


October

by MilkTeaMiku



Series: A Year of Writing [10]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alpha Thorin, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No One Ring, Angst, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Bilbo Baggins, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:50:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 40,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkTeaMiku/pseuds/MilkTeaMiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The experiences of Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield in every life they live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pheromones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin just wants to be with his lover.

Thorin was a typical Alpha - he was big, with broad shoulders, and he grumbled and growled a little more than was probably necessary. He had an angular face with a full nose, and as such often looked mean and intimidating when he didn't quite mean to. 

That being said, it was a miracle that Thorin had an _Omega._ And not just any Omega for that matter, but an Omega with soft, curly hair and chubby thighs and a smile that was full of sweet dimples. Bilbo Baggins was the most beautiful creature Thorin had ever laid his eyes on.

It was even more surprising to Thorin that Bilbo had willingly invited him to share his heats. It was an intimate form of trust that no one had ever placed in Thorin before, and there was no better feeling than being able to make someone like Bilbo as happy as possible.

After the journey, Thorin hadn't thought Bilbo would want to be anywhere near him, but the Omega was resilient and strong and didn't bow down to Thorin (which Thorin greatly admired, because most others were quite frightened by him and his status).

It was no wonder that Thorin was completely, utterly smitten. He adored Bilbo, and didn't think there was any way to love a person anymore than he already did-

Then Bilbo had fallen pregnant, and Thorin was a mess.

A lot of it had to do with hormones and pheromones. As an Omega, and a pregnant one at that, Bilbo constantly exuded pheromones designed to keep Thorin by his side, constantly riled up. He wanted to ravish Bilbo, constantly pamper him and follow him and make sure he was always comfortable and well fed and bathed. He became extremely _possessive,_ but always tried his hardest to quell those intrusive instincts.

Other times his own hormones dictated that he protect his mate. It was always a struggle to tear himself away from Bilbo, and he always wanted Bilbo to remain safely tucked away in their room.

That was impossible, of course, and Thorin always bit his tongue to stop from mentioning it. Bilbo was confident and determined and his own person, perfectly capable of taking care of himself even while pregnant. If he noticed Thorin asking a few extra guards to watch over him, he didn't say anything. He might of been glad for the extra protection, but neither of them mentioned it.

Towards the end of Bilbo's pregnancy, when he was constantly thickening the air with pheromones and rolling around in their bed excessively and hoarding all of Thorin's freshly worn clothes to make a nest out of, Thorin really struggled. His senses were increasing with the impending arrival of his child, and he swore he could smell Bilbo even from the other side of Erebor. 

Meetings became difficult for him to go through.

This one, for example, had him anxiously pacing as he tried to concentrate on what was being said at him. He was sure it was important - but was it so important that Balin and Fili couldn't handle it themselves? He was aching to return to his lover, of whom he knew had chosen to luxuriate in bed all day.

He was so distracted that he didn't even notice when Balin argued with the stubborn Dwarves around the table, before finally declaring that Thorin could leave to attend to his _heavily pregnant Omega._

After a thankful smile in the old Dwarf's direction, he hurried away.

Bilbo's scent was poignant and potent, and led Thorin right to him.

Like Thorin expected, Bilbo was wrapped up in a thin sheet on their expansive bed. He was only wearing one of Thorin's looser shirts to accommodate his swelling stomach, and had his legs bare and stretched in a rather comfortable looking position. He was rubbing his cheek against Thorin's pillow, and appeared rather content.

He feels the raging Alpha in him start to calm down at the sight of his mate. Bilbo let out an inquisitive chirrup noise as Thorin entered, and was soothed by a rumble Thorin let out. He took his time changing out of his royal armour and clothing so that he could comfortably crawl into bed with Bilbo.

Bilbo seemed to purr as Thorin drew him into his arms. Thorin stuffed his face into the crook of Bilbo's neck, taking comfort from the Hobbit's gentle scent and the press of Bilbo's stomach into his chest.

"How are you today?" Thorin asks, voice gruff.

"Good." Bilbo replies, nuzzling against Thorin's neck affectionately. "Wasn't there a meeting you had to attend?"

"Ran short."

Bilbo hummed, and finally stopped his squirming to settle in Thorin's arms. "Not long now." He says. "I can feel it."

Thorin absently lowers a hand to run his palm across the swell of Bilbo's skin. "You're not in pain?"

"Not really." Bilbo answers. "My back hurts a little, but some rest should fix that up all good."

Thorin makes a noise in reply, and gathers his Omega impossibly closer. He couldn't think of any words good enough to describe how much he felt for the Hobbit in his arms. Bilbo had given him a purpose, had given him someone to connect to, someone who would always be there for him, no matter what. Bilbo had given him a family, one he thought he would never have.

There wasn't any word grand enough to say that.

But Bilbo, the smart little thing he is, completely understands. He knows of the dark things that haunt Thorin's mind, knows how to quell his terrors and comfort him like no one else has ever been able to. 

He wished he knew how to tell Bilbo how much he cared for him. He didn't think he'd ever be able to, not to the extent that he felt, but he would always try. 

Bilbo pawed at Thorin's chest, gaining his attention. Thorin chuckled at Bilbo's behaviour, because it was certainly being at least a little muddled by Thorin's pleased pheromones, and lifts his hand to stroke lines down Bilbo's back. The Omega just sinks further into his grip, cooing happily, utterly at ease.

One day, Thorin would figure out how to tell Bilbo all that he felt. He had to learn these things, because he'd never expressed himself in this manner before, and just saying "I love you" didn't feel good enough.

One day he'd know how to, and he wouldn't hesitate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to another month~ ^^
> 
> October is going to be a little chaotic with the majority of my HSC exams taking place, as well as Inktober, university admissions and several important birthdays~ Either way, I hope I can produce something that you'll enjoy! 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me so far! ^///w///^


	2. Novocaine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to wake up without falling asleep first.

"Don't, Thorin!" Bilbo shouted. "I didn't ask you!"

"Why do you act like this?" Thorin shouted back. "You're acting crazy!"

"And you aren't? You're just as bad!"

"At least I don't lock myself away like a moody child!"

"I do it to get away from _you!"_

 

From half the world away, Bilbo slumped against his bedroom door. Their small house suddenly felt so large. The floor was cold when his legs gave out, and the air in the room was stagnant.

He felt drunk. Maybe he'd had too much wine, but they didn't have anything heavier, and he didn't want to feel anything anymore. 

He's been going for so long, always moving forwards. _It couldn't possibly get any worse than now,_ people told him. They were liars, because he couldn't survive this. He didn't know how. He was going to die of exhaustion before it became worth it.

 

From half the world away, Thorin slouched over the kitchen table. His hair was greasy, and the air was pungent with the smell of alcohol. He felt like the edge of the world was near, that it wouldn't take much for him to fall forwards.

He could see the sundown through the window. He wanted to chase those rays, have them fall on him for once, but he was so far east that he was westbound.

People told him this was a phase, that it was nothing more.

He needed to get out.

 

Bilbo tilted his head back, trying not to think. Something was screaming in his airways, like a voice ringing through his ears, like he wanted to _say something._

Looking back, he thought he might of wanted to ask Thorin to stay.

But this place wasn't where he needed to be, cause Thorin had been changing, hearing things that hadn't been said and chasing things that he could never hold for himself. Why did words like that have to mean so much to Thorin? It was... so _stupid._

 

Thorin tilted his head back, and tried to think about something, anything, other than what his life had congealed down to. He thought that maybe he could sleep through this, that he'd feel better when he woke up.

Maybe Bilbo was falling, right off the edge of the world with everything else that was lost and wandering, but it didn't feel like it. Maybe he wasn't. 

_"Just tell me what you're thinking,"_ He'd beg, he'd ask. Maybe he'd be able to fly Bilbo out of here one day, chasing dreams that weren't their own, so that they could _find_ their own.

But that didn't mean anything to him, it was stupid.

 

Banging on his door seemed to rock his very bones. He could feel it in his ribcage, like a second erratic heartbeat, could feel it rattling in his skull.

"Bilbo, just let me in!"

Bilbo shook his head, gripping fistfuls of his hair. "You see only what you want to, Thorin! You can't ignore this!"

"And you can't ignore me, Bilbo!" Thorin cried. He was frustrated. It sent another earthquake through Bilbo's bones. "Bilbo, please, you can't ignore me, don't ignore me, please..."

"You can't talk yourself out of this deep end, so just shut up."

 

Thorin shook, trembled, like something was rattling his very bones. He slid down against the door, resting his forehead against the wood. 

"You're not gonna leave, right?" Bilbo whispered.

Thorin shook his head. "You're better than that." He whispered back. "We're gonna get better, alright? You and me."

 

He sat there, wallowing in the alcohol in his blood and the voices in his head and everything else that didn't matter. He felt... bad. Not good. 

Something indescribable, like euphoria and chaos and haziness. 

Get better?

He was so far in the deep end he didn't know if it were possible. He felt disconnected from everything, from everyone, even Thorin. Like a simple wooden door was half the world in size.

But Thorin was there, just on the other side of the door. It was hard to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't turn out how I wanted it to, ahh ^____T


	3. A Walk In The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk in the rain requires an umbrella.

They were complete opposites, in everything from their personalities and the way they chose to dress to the words they used to speak and the food they preferred to eat.

Somehow, it all worked. Rather marvellously, if anyone chose to ask them.

Thorin was tall and broad, hair long and eyes dark. His face was naturally brooding, his features angular and masculine. He wasn't the friendliest person, and could be quite grouchy at times. He was more likely to glare than to smile, and would be caught dead before blushing. His clothes were dark, generally, and formfitting. He preferred heavier foods - spices and strong tastes and heady meals cooked over an open flame.

Bilbo was short and soft around the edges, stomach pudgy from a sickening love of sweet foods like lollies and sorbet and honey-sweetened tea. His features were round to match his curly hair. He was more likely to smile than glare, but that didn't mean he was always chipper. His clothes were always colourful, his wardrobe full of cute patterns and pastel colours and statement pieces. His clothes were hardly ever formfitting - he had ponchos and sweaters and shirts with puffy sleeves and bloomer-type shorts and pants that puffed around his hips but tapered tightly around his shins. 

They were certainly an odd pair, even odder when together. People often stared on the streets, and it took quite some time for their friends to get used to the strangeness of the duo.

Thorin preferred winter to summer. He liked wearing winter coats and jeans, both of which weren't optimal for summer weather conditions. 

Bilbo preferred autumn to spring. He adored all the colours and the way it sometimes rained and all the forest colour palettes that came into fashion. He could wear layers without being too hot or too cold, not to mention all the scarves and gloves and beanies that were suddenly available. Especially the scarves - the ones with the tassels and the ones with the plaid patterns and the ones with things dangling off the edges. 

His favourite thing was the weather, even above the clothes. He loved the stormy days and the damp, orange leaves that littered the ground and when it started to rain without being humid or cold or anything but wet.

Sometimes when he and Thorin went out, it started to rain. Bilbo loved those days, because he always managed to bring an umbrella that Thorin was reluctant to stand under, which always made Bilbo grin.

Today was one of those days. Bilbo was dressed in pale, forest green pants that were wide at his hips and tight at his shins with pockets lined with lace, and a beige sweater that had a white peter pan collar and white cuffs. 

As soon as the first drop of rain fell on the tip of his nose, he pulled out his umbrella. This one was transparent, with a ruffled white trim and white polka dots. He grinned as Thorin stared at him, looking petulant as the rain started to dampen his leather jacket. 

"You'll catch a cold if you don't join me." Bilbo tells him, smiling, as he holds out the umbrella. "Care for a stroll through the park?"

"We're already halfway through it." Thorin mutters, but he takes the white handle anyway, carefully holding it above their heads. "Where did you even get this one from?"

Bilbo grins cheekily. "Bought it from the craft store last week, when I went to buy more buttons and headpins, oh, I bought that nice fabric too! With the clouds on it, remember?"

Thorin nods. "Sneaky." He mumbles.

Bilbo laughs. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies fallen leaves on the ground that are perfect in shape and colour. "Wait a moment!" He demands, bending to pick up the leaf carefully.

"Not another one." Thorin groans as Bilbo stuffs the leaf into Thorin's jacket pocket - along with all the other leaves and acorns and various bits of greenery. The tall man just sighs.

"It's for my journal." Bilbo pouts.

Thorin chuckles, and dips to press a kiss to Bilbo's forehead. "I know, I know, I'm just messing with you."

Bilbo laughs, and twines their hands together. He swings them absently as he walks.

They were definitely an odd couple, but they certainly did work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update today, I have a friend's 18th to attend so I wanted to get this done before I went~
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes, I'm in a bit of a rush so I'll edit it later~ I actually rather enjoyed this one ^^


	4. Matters Of Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is too busy to realise how hard Bilbo is trying.

"One more kiss?" Bilbo asks, eyes wide and hopeful as he grips the sleeve of Thorin's cloak. It wasn't really "one more" because Thorin hadn't given him one that morning, but it wasn't unlike Thorin to forget - he was just so busy. 

Thorin startles at the touch, but doesn't hesitate to lean down and capture Bilbo's lips. He was gentle and warm, as he always was. 

"Have a good day." Bilbo says, smiling.

Thorin hums appreciatively, and gives Bilbo's hand a gentle squeeze before going on his way.

Mornings were often like that. Bilbo liked to have a schedule, so he often woke early to help out in the kitchens before retuning to wake Thorin and prepare himself for the day properly. 

Still, it was a bit of a struggle to get affection from Thorin. Even as his consort Bilbo had to ask - he didn't think Thorin was used to being in a relationship, and Bilbo wasn't particularly used to it either. 

But that was okay, they'd learn. Hobbits thrived on affection, and Bilbo didn't mind asking.

 

At midday, Bilbo made a fresh pot of tea and went to visit Thorin, like he did every day. It was a nice break for the both of them, he liked to think, and even though he'd already seen Thorin earlier that morning he'd always visit again.

Thorin was busy taking a recess from a long meeting when Bilbo went to find him. He looked stressed and maybe a little frustrated, which always made Bilbo worried. He could only hope Thorin's day didn't get any worse.

"Want some tea?" He offers, smiling as he places the tray down on a spare corner of Thorin's desk. "It's freshly made."

"Yes please." Thorin sighs, leaning back as he lifts his hands to rub at his temples. 

"Balin?" Bilbo glances up. 

The older Dwarf nods, smiling pleasantly. "If you will, lad. It's been a long meeting."

Bilbo pours their cups, first passing one into Thorin's hands before giving Balin his. "Is it going well?"

"As well as it can." Balin answers, after a moment when it's clear Thorin is too distracted to speak. 

"How much longer until the problem is resolved?" Bilbo asks next, resting a comforting hand on Thorin's shoulder. 

"Not long now." Balin says. "It shouldn't take much longer, the delegates are starting to see reason, I believe."

Bilbo smiles. "I'm glad." He says. "I hope you're head isn't too bad, Thorin."

Thorin hums. "It's alright. Nothing I can't handle."

Bilbo chuckles. "Alright, drink your tea just in case. I should be going now, anyway."

"Alright." Thorin answers.

Bilbo hesitates, aware of Balin's presence in the room, even if he isn't listening or looking. "Kiss?" He eventually asks, hesitant.

Thorin looks a little surprised at the question, but is quick in drawing Bilbo close to brush a sweet kiss against his cheek.

Satisfied, Bilbo gives him a last smile and heads for the door. "Don't forget to drink your tea!"

 

Thorin grumbles to himself as he shuffles through the papers in his hands. His days were long and tedious, full of endless meetings and arguing Dwarves and mountains of paperwork.

There were too many problems for him to handle, but he expected that.

The only highlight of his day was when Bilbo popped in to visit him. He often brought tea or fresh biscuits, which Thorin was very grateful for. Bilbo always managed to quell his headaches before they even began. 

The only problem currently plaguing his mind was the amount of times he caught Balin frowning at him. Thorin was starting to think it had something to do with his work, because Balin was his advisor, but he wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. 

"What is it?" He eventually asks, a little suspicious.

Balin frowns deeper. "Why must you make Bilbo have to ask for your affections?"

"What?" Thorin asks, sitting up straighter.

"That's not the proper way to treat your consort." Balin chastises. "Gandalf once said that Hobbits thrive on affection, but you hardly even speak to him some days."

"Balin that is absurd-"

"No, listen to me, Thorin." Balin interrupts. "All day - nay, all month your consort has come in here to greet you, taking time out of his day, and he always has to ask for your affections before leaving. No Dwarf should ever treat their One that way, King or not."

Thorin settles back in his chair, frowning in thought. He tried to think back on this last month - think past all the work and all the meetings and everything else that had given him headaches - and found that he could hardly remember spending time with his darling Bilbo. 

A painful thrum went through his chest at that. A whole month of his life, of his life _with_ Bilbo, and not a shining memory to show for it. What sort of husband has he been?

"I should go to him." Thorin stands, brows furrowed. "Cancel the rest of today's tasks, Balin."

"I will." Balin says. "Don't waste any time, Thorin, not with someone who loves you so much."

 

Bilbo was busy making the bed when Thorin snuck up on him. 

"Thorin!" Bilbo cries out, surprised, as Thorin's thick arms wind around his waist. "I didn't expect you to be back until nightfall!"

"I wanted to see you." Thorin murmurs, nuzzling against Bilbo's neck. "I've neglected you these past few weeks, and for that I am very sorry."

"What? You haven't-" Bilbo starts.

"I have." Thorin cuts him off, lifting a large hand to cup Bilbo's cheek. "I have, but I won't any longer. I don't want another day where I miss the opportunity to kiss you in the morning and hold you at night."

"Thorin..."

"You don't need to say anything, Bilbo." Thorin says, leaning down to capture Bilbo's lips. 

"No, I do." Bilbo whispers. "I don't resent you, Thorin, and there's nothing to forgive. I understand you're busy, and that you sometimes forget. Neither of us have ever done anything like this, have we? I know you'd never do anything to intentionally shun me, or spur my advancements. You're a _King,_ with a mighty kingdom to run. If I could not understand that, then I could not be your consort. I love you, unconditionally."

Thorin stares at him. His hand is trembling against Bilbo's cheek. "What did I ever do to deserve you? Even when I am in the wrong, you comfort me." 

Bilbo chuckles. "That is my duty to my King, is it not?"

Thorin smiles to himself, and dips to press a kiss to Bilbo's lips again. He coaxes Bilbo back, down onto the bed, where he sets his attentions more fervently to Bilbo. "I love you too, more than all the gold in all the world."

Bilbo stares up at him, eyes shining and cheeks red. He doesn't say anything, because there can't possibly be words to describe how he feels that he hasn't already said.


	5. Resting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hobbits have wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili/Fili/Bilbo/Thorin implied

Hobbits have wings.

Bilbo's are about four feet in length each, and fold into the line of his back marvellously well. They're feathered, and white in colour, but are mottled with browns and shades of gold similar to his hair. He keeps them rather well pruned, and always makes sure they're neat in appearance and under control.

His Dwarves were rather fond of them. Kili loved to sleep nestled in them and Fili loved to run his fingers through the feathers, and Thorin just liked them altogether. Bilbo was rather embarrassed by their affections, if he were being completely honest, but he enjoyed their attention. He supposed their curiosity was just, considering Dwarves themselves did not have wings.

Either way, his wings were much adored. They were great for relaxing, Bilbo thought, especially when everyone was warm and sleepy and huddled together in their nest of blankets (Dwarves had dens for winter, Bilbo found, because it got so cold that beds simply didn't suffice). 

Those were his favourite kinds of moments, when everyone was happy and together and cuddling. 

Bilbo had his wings spread, because they were surprisingly flexible and didn't often hurt even with others laying on them (much like a limb, they just became a little numb after a few hours) so that Kili could burrow into his feathers as he pressed against Bilbo's side. Fili was behind him, mostly because Kili was greedy when it came to affection and Fili was placating. Thorin was on Bilbo's side, closest to the exit as he always was, watching them.

Bilbo would wait until Kili and Fili drifted off before allowing himself to sleep. It was difficult with Thorin drawing circles on Bilbo's hip soothingly, but it seemed that Fili for the most part was already asleep and Kili was not far off it.

Thorin let out a deep breath behind Bilbo, and presses a kiss to the back of his head. "Are they asleep yet?"

Kili grunts in reply.

"Not yet." Bilbo answers, absently running his knuckles down Kili's scratchy cheek. "Almost."

Thorin hums, and reaches over Bilbo to press his hand against Kili's side. Kili all but croons in pleasure, nuzzling against Bilbo's feathers, content. The young prince really did enjoy attention, it was quite endearing. It didn't take long for him to drift off.

Thorin sighs when Kili finally starts to slumber. He draws his hand back, and kisses the back of Bilbo's head again. "Goodnight, âmralimê."

"Goodnight, love." Bilbo yawns. "See you in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, less than a week until my HSC exams ^____T 
> 
> I told myself I'd study so much today, and yet I fell asleep ^^" It was just too hot to do anything, it reached thirty-nine degrees today! I dread to think of what it's going to be like in summer :')


	6. Fussy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hush, now." Bilbo cooed as he lifted Frodo up into the crook of his arm. "No need to make a fuss."

Bilbo sighed as he set down his embroidery. He could hear Frodo starting to sniffle and squirm, tell-tale signs that his sweet baby was going to get grouchy if not attended to.

It was only ten o'clock, but Bilbo was very tired. Frodo had had his first set of injections that morning, which had gone only as well as he could have expected - not very. Frodo had cried and whimpered and gripped determined fistfuls of Thorin's hair like he never wanted to let go.

Bilbo had offered to stay up until Frodo's ten o'clock feed. His schedule wasn't usually like this, but his last feed had been pushed back because he was too upset to eat. 

Once Bilbo had made up the bottle, he wandered into Frodo's nursery. The infant was awake and red-cheeked, and let out a small cry as Bilbo approached. 

"Hush, now." Bilbo cooed as he lifted Frodo up into the crook of his arm. "No need to make a fuss."

Frodo grizzled, and seemed to fight against drinking for a moment, but at Bilbo's gentle insistence he settled. 

Luckily Frodo's arm wasn't bruising too badly. Bilbo remembered Kili's first injection, and his arm had been terribly bruised for a few days afterwards. That hadn't been pleasant on the household, but the sweet child took it marvellously, and certainly didn't fuss as much as Frodo.

But Bilbo didn't particularly mind. Frodo was hardly ever fussy, and had the best sleeping schedule Bilbo had ever seen. He didn't cry often, and was generally always smiling and giggling. Bilbo thought he deserved to be upset and fussy every now and then, especially after being jabbed with a needle. 

Besides, Bilbo enjoyed taking care of Frodo. He wasn't the most typical baby, so moments when he was truly vulnerable and needy made Bilbo feel very appreciated. He missed the times when Kili and Fili were toddlers, because now they were five and seven and didn't need him as much.

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo glanced away from Frodo's sleepy face to watch as Thorin wandered into the room. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was." Thorin said, draping himself across Bilbo's back as he lifted a hand to cup the back of Frodo's head. "Missed you."

Bilbo smiled faintly. "I'm almost finished here. Go back to bed, I'll meet you there in a minute."

Thorin hummed in agreement, and kissed both Bilbo's and Frodo's cheeks before disappearing back out the doorway.

"See, your father can be a sook sometimes." Bilbo whispered to Frodo, chuckling. "You're going to have him wrapped around your finger in not time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, it was so hot again today. I've gotten a migraine from all this heat, so excuse the short length today~


	7. In A Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is one of the Fair Folk. A Dwarf named Thorin approaches him for help.

Bilbo is one of the Fair Folk. Fairies, they're more commonly called, Changelings or Fey. He looks just like a human - to other humans that is. 

Those of the preternatural kind see a different thing when they glance at him, and are more likely to see through his glamour with ease if trained to do so. He didn't have to hide his appearance from others like him too often, so his glamour wasn't typically all that strong. 

As one of the Fair Folk, he was gifted in the art of brewing potions. Nothing like the humans thought of nowadays - nothing boiling and green and chunky and overall completely unpleasant. No, his potions were beautiful.

He sold them at markets. Places like markets were always rife with preternatural beings. A lot of their more traditional merchandise was most easily accessed at a stall, because working with technology could be difficult and some humans were obsessed with the idea of discovering them (not that they were anything more than stories, even in a modern, industrialised era).

Either way, his stalls were often present at markets. His wares were branded _"Shireling",_ after the old Shires the Fair Folk used to live in. He could only fantasise about places like that now, but he wasn't one to dwell on the past.

His potions were often well received by both preternatural beings and human beings. Of course, he never gave the working ones to humans - it would be disastrous to think of a human child accidentally uncorking a dangerous potion that could cause them quite a bit of harm just because it looks like raspberry cordial. 

He got many visitors at his stall. Many Merfolk came by looking for Tears or Scales or Breathability potions (many who were half-human had asthma due to two different lung types). Werewolves (who were often veterinary workers or animal trainers, Bilbo found) came by looking for Claws or Wolfsbane or other similar potions to heal their sick patients. There were many dryads and other nature sprites that loved his Regenerative potions and Terrarium Jars, too (they were apparently quite lovely to live in, some sprits told him, because they could manipulate their size and fit into the jar). 

Still, it was an odd day certainly when a Dwarf came to see him.

A wizard by the name of Gandalf had visited him the last time his stall made an appearance, and had been muttering bitterly about Dwarves. Bilbo thought his mutterings had just been... well, the ramblings of an old kooky wizard - apparently not. Dwarves were increasingly uncommon in these areas, Bilbo himself had only seen a handful in his life, and they had never purchased anything from him. 

This one, though.

This one seemed different.

"Gandalf told me you could help me." The Dwarf says, staring down at Bilbo out from the hood of his cloak. A strange thing to wear among humans, for sure, but fitting - there might have been a glamour on him to make him more average, but Bilbo was too distracted by his striking features to check. 

"What do you need?" Bilbo asks, eyes alight with curiosity. 

"I'm not quite sure." The Dwarf tells him. "My nephew is ailed with something unknown to Dwarves, and out of the Wizard's field of talent."

Bilbo hums thoughtfully. "Is he ill?"

The Dwarf nods. "He's lethargic, and has trouble waking up. He can no longer bear to move, and complains of a constant headache. He has no fever, and experiences no chills or hot flashes, but can't stomach anything but water. Even then, he has trouble keeping it down."

Bilbo nods as he listens, and reaches under his stall tables to rummage through his books. He wasn't too adapt at spells, but crystal healing and healing potions were well in his field of work. 

"That sounds like an Elven ailment." Bilbo says. "Has your nephew been around an Elven colony recently?"

The Dwarf narrows his eyes in distaste. "Possibly."

Bilbo hums again. "Well, there are many treatments for a sick Elf, but a sick Dwarf... may need something a little stronger."

 

The Dwarves tended to live together in large communities, and were generally closed off from other preternatural beings. As such, Bilbo was a little bit of an anomaly amongst their homes, and he received many stares as he trundled along behind the Dwarf commissioning him.

"I never asked your name." Bilbo says, staring up at the Dwarf curiously.

The Dwarf glances down at him briefly. "Thorin."

Bilbo grins - maybe a little too feral, but that was the nature of his kind. They were rather fond of names, mostly because of the ways they could be used. "I'm Bilbo." He offers in apology.

Thorin holds a door open for him. "Are you sure you can heal him?"

"Fairly certain." Bilbo answers, wandering in through the doorway. 

There was a Dwarf lying on the bed, flushed with sweat with a pinched expression. His hair was dark, like Thorin's, but his face wasn't quite as angular. He was younger, too. More fragile.

Bilbo almost wanted to coo.

"My, my, what do we have here?" Bilbo croons, reaching out a hand.

Fingers suddenly gripped his wrist, halting his hand. Bilbo follows the pale wrist up to a feminine face - dark hair, worried eyes, a familiar nose... His mother, then.

"Dis." Thorin chastises. "He's here to help."

The Dwarf watches him, her eyes sharp, but she lets go. "Be careful with my child." She murmurs. Bilbo feels like it's more of a demand than an ask.

"Of course." He answers, somewhat amused. "I'm not being paid to hurt him."

Dis eyes him suspiciously, but doesn't make a move to stop him again. 

Bilbo drops the satchel he'd been carrying, and rifles through it for the potions he'd made up earlier. They were mostly to treat Elves, but he'd upped the dosage in an attempt to get them to work on a sturdier Dwarf. He was hoping that because the Dwarf had not built up any semblance of a tolerance to the potions that they would work regardless.

Of course, he'd brought his healing crystals just to enforce it a little.

He shows them to Dis before placing them down in a half-hearted attempt to ease her apprehensiveness. "These are strengthening runes." Bilbo tells her, gesturing to the carved lines across the crystals. "And these ones are... well, they don't translate well into Westron, but they will help the medicine take affect."

She nods, and watches as he places them along the upturned side of the Dwarf's arms and within the Dwarf's palms.

He pulls out the potion and the needle next. He thinks back to the last ages, when needles weren't a medicinal tool, not even invented, and cringes at how much medicine had to be adapted to be used orally (or otherwise). Needles made things much more accessible.

He uncorks the potion, and draws out the dosage. Before either Dis or Thorin has a chance to stop him, he injects the young Dwarf with the potion.

"He should begin to regain strength in a few hours." Bilbo says, leaning forwards to peer at the Dwarf's face. "Can you hear me, Dwarfling?"

The Dwarf moans, eyes fluttering. He squints at Bilbo, looking quite delirious. "You got weird eyes, mister..."

"Mister Baggins." Bilbo supplies.

"Mister Boggins."

Bilbo's startles. "Baggins." He corrects. _"Bagg-ins."_

"Boggins." The Dwarf repeats.

Bilbo lets out an offended noise. "You little rascal." He huffs. "My eyes aren't all that strange." They weren't, not usually - when he used magic they got all shimmery and his pupil tended to distort, so he supposed they weren't quite normal at the moment.

"Kili." Dis admonishes, looking a tad embarrassed.

"Well, I'm assuming he's going to be fine with that single dosage." Bilbo says, packing away his materials. "No promises for his intelligence."

Thorin snorts. "He's always like that." He murmurs. "Even more so with his brother around."

Dis chuckles faintly, reaching out to grip one of Kili's hands. "I've got mischievous boys, what can I say? Thank you for helping him, Mister Baggins."

"Not a problem." Bilbo waves a hand. "This was a nice little experiment."

"Experiment." Dis repeats, looking unamused.

"Well I've never treated a Dwarf with an Elvish ailment." Bilbo says, matter of fact. "What did you expect? He's fine now."

Dis sighs, looking away. "It was a gamble I would have preferred to know about."

"But then you wouldn't have done it." Bilbo grins. "Which is why I didn't say anything."

"Yes, well, he's better now." Thorin says, placing a warning hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "We could be going before it gets dark."

"Bye bye then, Dwarfling." Bilbo croons at the Dwarf, who just huffs at him.

"Not a baby..." Kili mutters sourly.

"Goodbye, Mister Baggins." Dis farewells.

Bilbo follows Thorin from the room. "Aren't children just marvellous?"

"You seem quite enamoured."

"Oh, the children of Fair Folk are wonderful." Bilbo exclaims. "I've come across all matters of children in my line of work - even an Elvish child! And oh how beautiful he was, the most beautiful I've ever seen. But that, my dear Dwarven King, is the closest I've ever been to a Dwarven child."

Thorin startles, eyes darting to him in shock.

Bilbo grins, that wide kind of terrifying grin that a lot of Fair Folk seemed to develop when feeling particularly impish. "Did you think I was unaware of your title? Everything is in a name, Mister Oakenshield, and not many have a name as handsome as _Thorin."_

Thorin narrowed his eyes defensively.

"Oh don't be like that." Bilbo laughs. "I like names for the sake of remembering them, not using them. I'd like to think yours will be one to remember, will it not?"

"You're quite..."

"Dashing? Charming? Loveable?"

"Strange." Thorin answers, the corners of his lips turning up in amusement. "I suppose you're interesting, as well."

"You'll have to remember my name, then." Bilbo purrs, eyes hooded. "It will be one to remember, too."


	8. Marked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin returns to Hogwarts with something unexpected.

The halls of Hogwarts were always quite grand. 

Bilbo was always quite surprised whenever he returned after the holidays. It was always marvellous to see the lively paintings and the ghosts, and it was especially breathtaking to see the grand hall's ceiling. It was always charmed into something absolutely mesmerizing. 

Of course, it was nice to see his friends as well. His dorm mate, Ori, was always a pleasure to be around, as were Bofur and Bifur.

He was loathe to admit it, but it wasn't his dorm mates or house friends he was particularly excited to see once more. He loved his fellow Hufflepuffs, don't get him wrong - but there was a certain Slytherin that was all too addicting. 

Thorin Oakenshield was an enigma. Bilbo isn't particularly sure how they became friends - during their second year, they'd been paired together in Herbology. Thorin was particularly dismal at the subject, but Bilbo excelled, and they ended up doing rather well. They had really clicked after that, when Thorin had stopped his house members from bullying Bilbo and the other Hufflepuffs. Thorin had all but caught him when Bilbo had been pushed down the staircase.

Since then they'd been inseparable. Bilbo didn't know what it was about Thorin, but he liked nothing more than to be by Thorin's side.

Their parentage made it difficult. Bilbo was a half-blood, as only his mother had been of magic. Thorin was a pure blood, through and through. His bloodline could be linked back to royalty, though a monarchy was no longer in place. 

These were dangerous times, and those of "muddled" blood were often being targeted. The darker forces controlled a lot of families, and consequently their children - Thorin's included. It was mostly those of pure blood that were being branded with the Dark Mark. Bilbo knew only of their terror from what he'd learnt from forbidden books and hushed whispers.

He never expected to see one in person.

It was always the highlight of Bilbo's day to see Thorin for the first time. He couldn't go up to Thorin like he wished to, but as soon as Thorin separated from his group Bilbo knew the Slytherin would come searching for him. He was a little dismayed when that didn't happen by the time it usually would have, but he knew Thorin would meet him in the Room of Requirements before dinner.

They'd discovered the room in their fourth year. Bilbo wasn't exactly sure why it had revealed itself, but it certainly came in handy.

Maybe Hogwarts wanted to foster better relationships between the houses. Who knew.

Bilbo waited in the room for Thorin to come. There were comfortable chaise lounges and a warm, roaring fireplace. The room was quite quaint, and very comfortable. Bilbo rather liked it.

Thorin eventually arrived, looking as handsome as ever in his robes and tie. He had his hair in a loose bun, and looked rather tired.

"Thorin." Bilbo smiled, standing.

Thorin swept him up into a warm embrace, burying his nose in Bilbo's curls. "It's good to see you again."

"You too." Bilbo replied, face flushed. "I missed you."

Thorin hummed, and allows himself to be led to the couch. "How was your holiday?"

"Good." Bilbo answered, peering at Thorin's face in concern. "Are you alright, Thorin? You look ill."

Thorin glanced away, brow furrowing. "It's nothing." He murmured. "I'm fine."

Bilbo frowned, reaching out a hand to tentatively touch Thorin's shoulder. "Thorin? What's wrong...?"

Thorin let out a sigh - one that Bilbo knew wasn't any good. His eyes roamed down Thorin's figure, but nothing appeared out of place.

"Thorin...?"

"I fear that you will hate me." Thorin tells him, head turned away. "That you will come to fear me, or wish to never see me again."

Bilbo's eyes widened. "Thorin, I doubt I could ever hate you." Bilbo said, reaching for Thorin's hand. "Even if we were to no longer be friends, which I hope never comes to be, I could never think bad of the times we spent together. Now tell me, what ails you? You're worrying me."

Thorin took his hand, lifting it to brush a kiss across Bilbo's knuckles, before lowering it to pull up his own sleeve.

And there it was, the Dark Mark.

Bilbo gasped, drawing in a shaky breath. He traced the edge of the mark with trembling fingers. "How...?"

"My Father forced it." Thorin murmured. "Mother was against it, but Father insisted... insisted it was the only way to protect me. I fear he's too far gone under the Dark Lord's curse."

Bilbo draws Thorin into an embrace, ignoring the way the Slytherin startled and stiffened. "It's okay, Thorin." He said, gripping the back of Thorin's cloak tightly. "You'll be okay, right?"

"Why do you fear for me?" Thorin asked, drawing back. His brow was furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching. "Why do you care for me so?"

Bilbo offered him a comforting smile. "How could I not? You mean very much to me."

"Then you are not afraid?" Thorin breathed, a look of relief washing over his face.

Bilbo lifted a hand to touch Thorin's cheek. "Of course not. I adore you."

Thorin huffed out a short burst of laughter. "Only you would be this cute when faced with a Dark Mark."

Bilbo flushed, but chuckled. "Stop being strange."

Thorin rolled his eyes, and yanked Bilbo down onto him as he sunk back into the couch.

Bilbo squealed in shock. "Thorin!"

"Shh." Thorin hushed him, grinning as he nuzzled Bilbo's curls again. "I'm being strange."

It was comfortingly quiet for a while. Bilbo relaxed in Thorin's embrace, content to have the Slytherin close again. He watched the fire, lulled into a sleepy state by its warmth.

"So you're really alright with this?" Thorin whispered.

"It's not as though you consented to it." Bilbo whispered back. "It's for your protection, isn't it? You're not like them - the Death Eaters. You're parents aren't dark, not like them."

"My Father..."

"Is Gold Sick." Bilbo interrupted. "That's completely different. You're different. I trust you, Thorin, mark or no. Just don't push me away, alright? I couldn't bare to think of you being in danger without me there to protect you."

Thorin chuckled at the idea, stroking a hand down Bilbo's waist. "Yes dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, diokoxkristof! ^^
> 
> I got my acceptance e-mail, today ^w^ Not exactly what I was aiming for, but basically the same! I now have a place at university~ ^^


	9. Marked Pt.II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle ensues.

The darkness massing in the world of wizardry came to a head in Bilbo's sixth year.

Thorin had only worn the Dark Mark for just shy of twelve months. Bilbo sometimes forgot it was even there, because nothing about it changed the way he felt about Thorin - except for making him more concerned for Thorin's safety. 

The attack on Hogwarts wasn't entirely unexpected, but it was shocking. There had been isolated incidents for months, resulting in countless nights spent sleeping with every student in the great hall and several lockdowns where they were forbidden to leave their dormitories. Bilbo had lost count of the classes that had been cancelled in fear of a break of their defences.

When it happened, they were mostly unprepared.

Students were screaming and fleeing. Bilbo tried to herd the first and second years of his house to the Hufflepuff Basement that served as their common room, but it was chaotic in the halls. By the time the younger students had been safely tucked away the Hogwarts barriers had fallen and the walls were crumbling.

"Thorin!" Bilbo shouted as he dove under a stray spell that collided with the staircase behind him. The courtyard was strewn with battles - flashes of green and red and white blinded him, as the sounds of shouted spells and screams deafened his ears. _"Thorin!"_

A wave of shouts rolled through the scene as the Dark Mark finally appeared in the sky. Billowing, grey clouds rolled and twisted to form the terrifyingly familiar snake and skull duo that had chills racing down Bilbo's side. 

Bilbo's eyes caught sight of a familiar friend, so he raced forwards. "Dwalin! Dwalin, where's Thorin?"

The older Slytherin grabbed Bilbo by the waist and threw them both to the ground as a green streak of light shot above their heads. "Bilbo, what are you doing out here? Go to the dorms!"

"No!" Bilbo shook off Dwalin's grip, panting. "Where's Thorin? Tell me where he is!"

"I don't know." Dwalin shouted above the roar of the battle. "His parents are here, all of our parents are here." He sounded panicked, which was something foreign and unnerving coming from a person like him.

"You can't fight them." Bilbo realised, eyes widening in terror. "You can't fight them, so you have to fight us."

"People are going to hate Slytherins after this." Dwalin said. "No matter if they are involved or not. You should go find your friends and live, Bilbo Baggins."

Bilbo's heart clenched, but he shook his head again. "I'm not leaving Thorin out here."

Dwalin stared, but quickly glanced away. "I lost sight of him when our parents showed up. I don't know where he is."

Bilbo gulped, but nodded as he stood. "I'm going to find him."

"Alright." Dwalin murmured. "Be careful, Bilbo. Don't go getting yourself killed."

Bilbo rushed out around the courtyard after that. He spotted people he recognised - Bofur and Bifur, Dori from Ravenclaw, Nori from Slytherin, even the two rascal fourth-years Fili and Kili from Gryffindor - but he couldn't see Thorin. 

Then Bilbo saw him. The Dark Lord - firing bolts of green at students, at teachers, at anyone who wasn't with him.

Bilbo felt a shock of terror rock through him. He backed away behind one of the columns of the walkway, pressing against the stone in an attempt to make himself smaller. He'd never felt so scared.

He peered back around the corner, gripping his wand hard enough to feel the wood creak. He held his breath to stop from whimpering, and tried to find Thorin again. It took a moment, but then Bilbo saw him.

Right in the line of fire.

"Thorin!" He screamed.

Thorin was standing in front of his mother, wand raised towards his father. Bilbo's shout lapsed his concentration, and his wand wavered.

Bilbo shot out a spell before Thorin's father could finish muttering his curse. Thrain's wand went flying, and Thorin quickly shot a spell that sent him to the ground.

"Bilbo, why are you out here?" Thorin demands, gripping Bilbo by the arms tightly. "You should go!"

"Not without you!" Bilbo protested.

Thorin grit his teeth, and glanced up at the field before turning back to his mother. "Find Frerin, find Dis and go." He demanded.

She nods, and only leaves after pulling him into a fierce hug. She murmurs something in his ear, and Thorin lingers in her embrace to listen, before she's gone. 

"Bilbo, stay close to me, alright?" 

Bilbo nodded, gripping Thorin's sleeve as they started to move across the battlefield.

A violent spell suddenly ruptured the ground beneath them. 

Bilbo cried out in pain as the stone seemed to crack and erupt, sending chunks of debris ricocheting in all directions. His hand was torn from Thorin's sleeve as he fell to the ground. Blood starting dripping down from a gash in his knee almost immediately.

Dimly, he realised his ears were ringing. His vision swam as he tried to sit, but his entire body trembled with the effort of it.

Thrain had shot the spell. His wand was still raised - Bilbo could see it even from across the field.

The Dark Lord had his wand pointed, too.

Pointed at Thorin. 

_"Betrayer!"_ Whispered through his ears - a voice raspy and deep and _violent._

It reminded him of a dragon.

Then a shock of green light was sent flying through the air.

Bilbo raised his wand before he even thought about it. Bolts of molten red light shot out of the tip, colliding with the green midair. A wave of wind rocked his entire body from the impact as he watched a field of white light burst from the collision.

He wouldn't be able to hold it for long.

"Thorin!" He shouted. "Thorin, do it!"

"Bilbo, no!" Thorin cried.

Bilbo's arm shook. Black dots danced across his eyes - he wondered if he had a concussion, but didn't dwell on the thought. _"Thorin!"_

He heard Thorin scream, and then the Dark Lord fell.

Green flared before Bilbo's eyes as his arm collapsed. He wonder what came first - his failure, or Thorin's success.

His world went dark before he could figure it out.

 

He woke up with a headache. He didn't expect anything less, but it was still painful.

"Bilbo?" A familiar voice murmured. "Are you awake?"

Bilbo groaned. "Thorin..."

"I'm here." Thorin said, gripping Bilbo's hands comfortingly. "How are you feeling?"

"Heads' sore." He mumbles.

"The nurse said that might be the case." Thorin tells him. "Here, drink this. It's supposed to alleviate the pain."

Bilbo gulps down the tasteless liquid Thorin brings to his lips. "What happened?"

"You got knocked out." Thorin said. "You've been unconscious for a week - an aftershock of the Dark Lord's spell completely drained you, and you lost a lot of blood from your knee. You're better now."

"Alright." Bilbo murmured shakily. "Are you okay?"

Thorin chuckled, bending to press a kiss to Bilbo's forehead. "Stop worrying for me." He said. "And let me worry for you. I've never been so scared in all my life, Bilbo. One more second... If I had waited one more second to fire that spell you would have been killed right in front of me."

"Oh." Bilbo breathed in deeply. "Thanks for saving me."

"You're being strange." Thorin chuckled weakly again. "I wouldn't know what to do without you."

"Same." Bilbo warbled lamely. He could feel tears gathering in his eyes. "I was scared you were gonna die."

It was silent for a long moment. Thorin stroked Bilbo's hand with his thumb gentle, lulling him into a calm state. "They're calling us Hogwarts' Star-Crossed Lovers, you know."

"What?" Bilbo gaped, flushing.

Thorin had the decency to look vaguely flushed as well. "Yes, well, it was a bit hard to miss seeing the Dark Lord vanquished." He muttered. "Apparently."

"Star-Crossed Lovers?" Bilbo repeated in a daze. 

Thorin nodded in confirmation.

"I suppose we're both strange, now." Bilbo said airily.

Thorin laughed. "And are we lovers?"

Bilbo snorts. "We've been lovers for years and you know it."

"Why have I been holding back?" Thorin sighed, glancing up in a rather comical way. "To think I could have been ravishing this creature before me for so long."

"You won't be ravishing anything until we graduate." Bilbo huffed, rolling his eyes light heartedly.

"It's worth the wait." Thorin smiled to himself.

"Star-Crossed Lovers, huh." Bilbo sighed, shutting his eyes as he luxuriated in the feel of Thorin's hand, warm and comforting, wrapped around his own. "I suppose I could become accustomed to that."


	10. Time Capsule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could never quite remember what he forgot.

Bilbo wasn't all that good at making friends. He was nine when his parents died in a car crash caused by a drunk driver, thirteen when he realised he didn't have any friends, eighteen when he was kicked out of the fostering system, and twenty when he started living alone. 

He was lonely, of course. He wanted to have friends, have a lover.

But who would ever love him?

He wasn't much to look at. He was too short, too round around the middle. He didn't have much to offer in a relationship - nothing but himself, really, and even then that wasn't much.

He didn't believe anything incredible would ever happen to him.

Then he met Thorin Oakenshield.

The man collapsed against his doorway before a storm hit. Bilbo had never been so terrified - he lived in an isolated area, and he doubted anyone would ever find his body, possibly only the mailman. 

For some reason, he decided not to hide in his house acting as though he didn't exist, hoping that Thorin would leave if he thought no one was there. 

Thorin hadn't been as scary as Bilbo expected. He was tall, much taller than Bilbo, with very broad shoulders and hands that could very well crush both of Bilbo's with little effort. His hair was long and dark in colour, much like his eyes. He was handsome.

And apparently, he was someone incredibly important.

Bilbo's mother had always told him stories about people who weren't human - people who were powerful, and lived in the human world behind veils of something preternatural and illicit. There was always something about the way she spoke that had him believing her, even if his father chuckled and told her not to fill his head with whims and dreams like those.

Seeing Thorin brought her voice back to his ears.

Thorin stayed for a long time. It was like time itself stilled in his presence, always moving slowly and languidly and pleasantly. There was something decidedly not-human about it. About Thorin.

"Where are your parents?" Thorin asks.

"They died." Bilbo answers. He was wearing a sweater, and cradled a cup of tea between his hands.

Thorin had a blanket strewn across his lap, and wore the same clothes he had first arrived in. "How did they die?"

"A car accident."

Thorin doesn't nod, doesn't apologise or acknowledge the words Bilbo speaks, but rather he takes them in, silently filing away the information in some part of his brain that was slowly forming the label _"Bilbo."_

It was oddly refreshing - to not have the pity, the apology. It was like Thorin understood that it wasn't something Bilbo wanted an apology for.

"Do you live alone?"

"I do."

"Aren't you lonely?"

Bilbo hesitated. "Sometimes. Sometimes not."

"Were you afraid of me?"

"Yes." Bilbo answers. "Of course I was."

Thorin looked mildly amused. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"And you have no friends?"

"Not particularly."

"Do you work?"

"I feel like you're compelling me to answer your questions." Bilbo chuckles.

"Maybe I am."

He sounded cheekily. Bilbo thought that maybe that was his first clue that Thorin wasn't entirely human. "Well, I do work." He says. "But from home, through the internet. I don't need to leave the house to work."

Thorin hummed. "Do you not wish to venture further out into the world? To travel? Make friends? Start a family."

"Yes, but..." Bilbo shrugged a shoulder dismissively. "I don't think I can."

"Why not?"

Bilbo glances to the side. He didn't know how to answer that. There were many things he could say - he was scared, he was unable to make friends, he was to ugly to approach or be approached, he didn't know his way, he didn't _want_ to. 

But he didn't know. He couldn't answer Thorin.

"What about you?" Bilbo asks. "I know nothing of you."

"I'm not as interesting as you."

"I hardly believe that." Bilbo answers, confused. He had to be the most boring person in the world. 

"I find you interesting." 

Bilbo stared at him, feeling a little humbled. "Will you not tell me about you? I only know your name."

"Tell me about you instead." Thorin coaxes. "I want to know more."

So Bilbo told him. He answered every question as best as he could. He wondered if he were still interesting as he recalled all the memories he could to entertain Thorin. He tried to be honest, and not to lie, though he glossed over parts of his tales that were painful to speak of.

The death of his parents, for example.

But Thorin's attention didn't waver.

Bilbo had never felt so important.

He fell asleep like that, after spending hours or days or maybe even years talking to Thorin. The cup was slack in his grip, his head turned to the side. The couch was oddly comfortable when one fell asleep like that.

When he woke, Thorin was gone, as if he'd never been there.

 

One day, over many years, Bilbo aged. He grew older as the time passed, grew grey and wrinkled and quieter. His hands started to shake when he tried to sew, and sometimes his memories seemed to fade out of his mind.

He could never quite remember what he forgot. 

He thinks he might of died, or was on the verge of it, when Thorin came back.

"Hello Bilbo."

"I remember you." Bilbo murmurs. "Even if everything else fades, I remember you."

Thorin took his hand, regardless of the wrinkles and the discolouring of age in his skin. He held Bilbo's hand like it may break, but not because of Bilbo's frailness, but because Thorin's hands were as big and strong as Bilbo remembered them. 

"Are you ready to travel, now?" Thorin asks.

"You left."

"You weren't ready." Thorin says. "Your mind, your soul - whatever it may be, it was too young. You needed to age, but I worry you may not be ready in this lifetime. So, are you?"

Bilbo stares at their hands. His gaze didn't feel as hazy as it used to. He thought his hand might of looked smoother, as if Thorin's touch was breathing life and youth back into his skin - turning him back to how he was when they met. 

"I'm ready."


	11. Succulent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A group of college students destroy Bilbo's prized plants.
> 
> One tries to make up for it.

Bilbo was kind of sad sometimes. Exams stressed him out and he was really self-conscious and sometimes he thought that if he wasn't the best at what he was good at then he wasn't good at anything.

But that was okay. Sometimes he got sick, and tired too, but that was okay. 

He had ways to cope. Special teas and these little microwavable apple pies that tasted great and his succulent and cactus garden. 

He loved his garden the most. He spent hours working on it, keeping the plants alive and healthy and arranged just so. It took him ages to choose out new plants, because he was very picky and only wanted the ones that would fit in the best. He was very proud of his little setup.

Then some idiots came along and destroyed it.

Bilbo stood before his wrecked little garden, eyes wide and watery.

The culprits were a group of guys from his university - he recognised most of them, and knew their names. Some were probably drunk - it was late at night, and there were parties going on a few streets over.

"Hey, look I'm sorry." One of the partygoers, a man named Thorin, told Bilbo awkwardly. "We didn't mean to step on your plants."

Bilbo sniffles, and tries not to cry.

"Are you crying?"

"No." Bilbo warbles, pressing his hands to his eyes. He was in his pyjamas, for goodness' sake. He'd been ready for bed when he heard the sound of his pots being broken and trampled.

"Oh my God, you're crying." Thorin makes a strangle sound, gripping a fistful of his hair. "I made you cry."

"No you didn't." Bilbo argues, even as his eyes get progressively wetter.

Thorin groans. "Fine, hey look, I'll take you out and we can replace them, alright?"

"What...?"

"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning, so be ready." Thorin tells him. "And stop crying!"

 

Bilbo didn't really think Thorin would keep to his word, but he got dressed early the next morning anyway. 

He was in the garden salvaging his plants when Thorin pulled up to his driveway. Bilbo's eyes were still red form crying, and they kind of stung a little.

Thorin winces as he catches sight of them. "Good morning..." He edges. "Bilbo, right? I'm sorry about your plants."

"It's fine." Bilbo mumbles, even though it isn't. A few of his favourite succulents had been trampled and weren't fixable, and the others had all been uprooted when the long pot tipped over and shattered. There was soil all over his steps now, too.

"Let's get going, then?" Thorin offers.

"Alright." Bilbo says, standing to brush the dirt off his hands.

Thorin's car was surprisingly clean on the inside. It smelt like freshener, which Bilbo thought was nice. The seats were leather, and comfortable. The air, however, was extremely awkward.

Thorin backed out of his driveway, and began driving. "So... you like gardening?"

"Ah, yes." Bilbo nods, a little flustered. "It's therapeutic."

Thorin winces. "I really am sorry for wrecking your garden."

Bilbo hums noncommittally. 

"What plants were they?"

"Succulents." Bilbo murmurs, glancing over at Thorin. "And cacti."

"Those are odd choices for a garden."

"They're easy to grow." Bilbo says. "And don't need much water. They're resilient."

"That's good."

Bilbo nods. "They're really pretty, too. They come out in flowers some times."

"Do they?"

"Yeah." Bilbo smiles a little. Maybe Thorin wasn't so bad after all. 

 

Bilbo was picky, he knew that. It took him more than a year to finally gather all the plants that had been in his garden. He had very specific tastes, and only wanted certain colours and shapes, not to mention the plants had to be able to grow in the conditions he had to offer.

He'd been standing in front of the succulent section for half an hour, probably. He couldn't help it - it was hard to replace plants he hadn't really comprehended that he'd lost. He had to find one that truly meant something, like the others had.

"Can't you just pick one?" Thorin asks. He'd started pacing about ten minutes ago, and looked rather bored.

Bilbo shook his head, chewing on his lip nervously as he moved further along the display. His eyes eagerly searched the shelves, trying to find something to fit his tastes.

"What about this one?" Thorin asks, picking up a small plant.

Bilbo shook his head.

"This one?"

Bilbo shrunk into his shoulders, feeling more upset the more frustrated Thorin got.

"Bilbo I don't have time for this! Just pick one and let's go." Thorin snaps.

Bilbo felt like he was going to cry. "I don't want anything." He whimpers, wrapping his arms around himself loosely as he turns away from the succulents. 

"Bilbo," Thorin groans, jerking a hand through his hair, "I didn't mean-"

Bilbo shakes his head, lips pressed together tightly. "I want to go home now."

 

"Bilbo, I'm sorry." Thorin says, yet again, as he pulls into Bilbo's driveway.

"Just forget it." Bilbo mutters, hastily unclipping his seatbelt. The whole ride back had been more awkward than the first car trip, and Bilbo just wanted to get inside and sulk in private. He exits the car before Thorin has the chance to say anything else, and only half-heartedly attempts to straighten his empty pots on the way indoors. 

 

It was early one morning the next week when Bilbo had an unexpected knock on his front door. He was still in his pyjamas and was half asleep when he shuffled through his house to open it.

"Uh, hey there. Good morning."

"Thorin?" Bilbo mumbles, rubbing his eye sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

"I got you something." Thorin says. He sounded nervous as he thrust something into Bilbo's hands.

It was a succulent. 

"It took me ages to find it." Thorin explains, rubbing the back of his neck. "I had to go to heaps of stores, and I don't really know much about the plants but I thought that one was pretty- and it kinda looked like the ones in your pot so I thought- I don't know, if you don't like it, that's fine too."

Bilbo thought the succulent might not have been one he would have chosen, but to have Thorin put so much effort into finding one, just for him... He thought that maybe this plant was more special than the other ones he'd seen.

"I like it." He murmurs bashfully, holding the plant tightly. "Thank you."

"It's fine, it's sort of my fault all this happened anyway." Thorin says. "I'm glad you like it."

Bilbo offers him a small smile.

"Do you want to- I mean, want to go out for coffee some time or something?" Thorin asks, looking a little pink in the cheeks.

Bilbo's eyes widen in surprise. "Y-yes?"

"Great." Thorin nods. "Ah, good. Here, give me your phone, I'll put in my number."

Bilbo complies, fishing out his phone from the pocket in his pyjamas to hand to Thorin. He noticed that Thorin's hands were big - much bigger than his own, and then his phone was being handed back. 

"I'll see you later, then." Thorin says.

"Ah- Thorin." Bilbo calls.

The man glances back at him.

"T-thanks, again." He stutters, flushing. "For the plant."

"Oh, it's not a problem." Thorin smiles. "Don't forget to message me, yeah?"

"Yeah." 

Bilbo watches him leave, before shutting his front door. He places the plant on the windowsill, where it can get a lot of sunlight.

"Welcome to the family, little fella."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my exams start tomorrow and I'm kind of nervous @.@
> 
> They're the last exams I'll ever take in high school, so it's very nerve-wracking (though I'm usually never nervous for exams). I won't be writing much this week because I have three exams scheduled, but after that I should be fine because they're more spaced out.
> 
> I can relate to this one a lot - I've recently bought a lot plants for no particular purpose, haha~ I'm running out of ideas at the moment, too, so feel free to send me anything you have in mind ^^


	12. The Voice Of Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dwarves were singing.

The Dwarves were singing again.

Bilbo stayed where he was, hidden behind a pillar as he peered down into the hall. Erebor was oddly quiet - Bilbo did not know why, but he expected it was the anniversary of Smaug's destruction. The Dwarves of Erebor were mourning today, and he did not wish to interrupt.

Their singing was beautiful - more beautiful than the singing of the Elves, he would dare say. There was a significant lack of musical instruments when the Dwarves sung like this. Instead, they used their voices, all of them, in a harmony Bilbo could never understand.

Their singing set his hair on edge, in a good way. It was deep and bone-tingling, and always put him in a trance. He didn't feel included, but that was okay. Just to hear it felt okay.

Thorin had a wonderful voice. Ever since Bilbo heard it that first time in Bag-End, he'd been enraptured. He'd never heard anything quite like it. 

There wasn't a word grand enough to describe it.

Bilbo sighed to himself, leaning more heavily against the pillar. The cold of the stone seeped through his clothing, as he wasn't wearing his coat because it was close to his bedtime, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He wanted to hear the song, all of it. 

"Bilbo?"

The Hobbit startled, heart racing at the sudden voice. "Oh- Thorin, hello."

"I thought you had retired for the night." The Dwarven King told him, eyes dark under the glistening metal of his crown. 

"I got distracted." Bilbo admitted, glancing back down at the group beneath the balcony. He spotted some familiar faces, but there were many he had yet to get acquainted with. 

Thorin wanders over to stand next to him - stand rather close, Bilbo thought, close enough that Bilbo could smell Thorin's scent and feel the warmth radiating through his blue cloak.

"Do you wish to join them?" Thorin asked him.

Bilbo shook his head. "No, it's not my place." He said. "I know I'm a part of this mountain, as you've told me, but this is something for Dwarves to mourn. It's not my place."

Thorin nodded in acknowledgment. "That is very considerate." He murmured. 

"I think I'll return to bed, actually." Bilbo sighed, turning away. "It's quite late."

"I'll accompany you, then." Thorin said, placing a warm hand on the small of Bilbo's back as they begin to walk.

Bilbo offered him a flushed smile.

They'd grown rather close, as Erebor was rebuilt. 

Bilbo was rather fond of Thorin - too fond, perhaps, but Thorin's attentions were satisfying. It made him feel like he was on another adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One exam down, five to go ^_____T


	13. Floating Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo accidentally spells his neighbour's nosy cat into flying.

Bilbo was a witch.

Not the grotesque versions humans created, not the ones with green skin and boils and big noses and pointed hats. He didn't have a broom to fly on or a wand to wave or a black cat. Really, he was allergic to the furry creatures.

But he was a witch, nevertheless. He looked like a human through and through, except for slightly pointed ears and eyes that sometimes shifted colours in accordance to the cycle of the moon (which was really something he had no control over). 

There were some humans who still hunted his kind. Nothing like the Salem trials, of course, and burning at the stake was quite unethical in this day and age. But there were hunters that still believed in the presence of his kind.

He supposed they weren't entirely crazy, all things considered. They just weren't all that good at doing the actual _hunting_ part.

Still, Bilbo made sure to move every few decades. He couldn't have anyone suspecting him, not without the protection of his own kind. They had citadels, still, where they all congealed and avoided the detection of humans altogether, but Bilbo didn't want to live there. 

Not since the Fell Winter.

They were too much of a target to darker creatures when they bunched together. So, despite the added protection if would offer him, he avoided the citadels. 

The new town he moved to was quaint and dreary. His new home had space for a garden, which was always nice. He did love to grow things.

His neighbour had a cat, as it turned out. A rather friendly cat.

Now Bilbo had never met his neighbour when the cat showed up, even though he'd been living in the new house trying to blend in as a human for a full month. 

He'd been gardening when the pretty little thing wandered over. He didn't have any cat-unfriendly plants in his yard, so he wasn't too fussed when it carefully trod it's way through his sprouts. 

"I'm allergic to you." He says, amused, as the cat delicately sits down on his garden bed. "What do you want, creature?"

The cat just blinks at him.

Bilbo sighs, and turn backs to his garden. It'd bore itself, eventually.

 

Of course, the cat didn't. It made a nuisance of itself, appearing on his windowsills and on his porch and - somehow, Bilbo was unsure of how completely - inside his laundry, right on top of the washing machine. 

Sometimes he didn't even notice the cat, which could be a little dangerous when he was practicing magic. Especially when he was practicing magic. 

In fact, it was quickly becoming his quickest problem.

See, he hadn't meant to make the cat fly. The thing had startled him, and off went his spell, right over it's head. And now the damn creature was leisurely paddling through his kitchen like it owned the place.

Bilbo just stares at it, cringing. The spell wouldn't wear off for another few hours, and he knew it was getting close to the time it's owner - a rather handsome man Bilbo often spied through his kitchen window - would call it in for dinner. 

So, in an attempt to control the situation, Bilbo grabbed the floating cat and quickly made his way to the neighbour's.

The man was just exiting his home when Bilbo approached.

"Is this your cat?" Bilbo asks, holding the cat firmly so that it didn't float away. The cat didn't seem to mind - in fact, it was purring at the attention. 

"Ah, yeah it is." The guy offers him a bashful smile. "Did he wander into your yard?"

"Yes, he does that often." Bilbo says. "And into my home."

"Sorry about that..." The man says. "I don't know how to stop him."

"It's alright." Bilbo says, his nose twitching. "He just surprises me sometimes-" Bilbo lets out an unexpected sneeze as he walks up the neighbour's porch steps. He trips up one of the stairs in the middle of it, and the cat goes flying.

Bilbo groans as he hits the deck, a burst of magic leaving his flailing hands.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" The neighbour asks, fumbling to grab his floating cat as he reaches down for Bilbo's hands. "My cat- my cat is floating."

"Ahh..." Bilbo flushes horribly, and accepts the hand that helps him up. "About that..."

"Are you a witch?" The man asks, eyes widening with realisation. "You're a witch, aren't you?"

"O-of course not, don't be silly-"

"Don't worry, I'm not a hunter." The man grins. "I'm a grounder."

Bilbo's eyes widen. "You are?"

He'd heard about them in tales - humans who could essentially ground a witch's magic to stop it from going haywire, as it often did. They were rare - a combination of exposed magic during the gestation period and two full human parents sometimes coincidentally produced grounders instead of a completely human babe.

"My entire family is." The man says. "We just keep popping up, apparently. Want to come in?"

"Sure..."

 

Apparently his attractive neighbour - Thorin Oakenshield, his name was - had suspected Bilbo of being a witch the moment he moved in. Bilbo hadn't noticed, but his magic had been going a little overboard. Thorin's electronics had blacked out a few times, and his dead plants had sprung to life for no conceivable reason.

Of course, his cat had been disappearing too. Apparently the furry thing was attracted to witches.

Bilbo hadn't noticed any of this because Thorin was a grounder. Thorin's reach was enough to encompass Bilbo's house, so he'd been blissfully unaware of it all, which had him rather embarrassed. 

Thorin didn't seem to mind - in fact, he suggested that they get together more often because he was interested in becoming Bilbo's fulltime grounder.

It seems Bilbo wasn't the only one attracted to the new neighbour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by soultionforreality~ ^^
> 
> I'm so exhausted, ahh-- two exams down at least, four to go~


	14. Delicate Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Thorin had nightmares.

Sometimes, Thorin had nightmares.

He didn't often tell Bilbo what they were about, but Bilbo could guess. The Dwarf would suddenly awaken with Bilbo's name nothing more than a strangled gasp upon his lips, and Bilbo knew he had dreamt of the ramparts again. Other times he dreamt of gold, of it's sickening allure, or of Smaug and his acrid destruction of Erebor. 

It was always during the middle of the night. Bilbo feared for him, because he hated the idea of Thorin fearing something he had no control over. There wasn't much for Bilbo to do - all he could do was comfort Thorin, and soothe him back to sleep.

The times Thorin woke from a nightmare were some of the only times he allowed himself to be vulnerable. It wasn't like Thorin shied away from that kind of affection from Bilbo, but rather he preferred to offer it. Thorin wasn't used to being coddled, but he accepted it in times of need.

It could have been their height differences that made Thorin reluctant to accept affection in those kinds of situations. Bilbo didn't particularly blame them - their body types couldn't have been any different. But those sorts of differences were easy for them to overcome - so long as Thorin allowed it, of course. 

It was a delicate sort of balance, but Bilbo liked it. It felt personal, and deeply intimate - it was _their_ dynamics, and nobody else's. No one else would be able to comfort Thorin in that way, because he only trusted Bilbo to do so. 

A delicate balance, yes, but nevertheless entirely welcome.


	15. Accompany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finds a Dwarf in the forest.

The woods were unnervingly quiet as Bilbo pads across the mossy ground. He was one of the few, if not the only, Hobbit to venture out past the boundaries of the Shire. Most Hobbits weren't in tuned with their more animalistic sides, but Bilbo regularly changed skins.

He could sense something was wrong as he wandered between the trees. There was a foul scent on the breeze, one that mingled with a scent Bilbo wasn't too familiar with. It certainly wasn't the wandering Wizard that often brought wonderful fireworks to the Shire, and it wasn't another Hobbit. It was someone entirely different.

What he found as he followed the scents was something entirely dangerous. If he were on two legs, he wouldn't have even thought of engaging the Orcs that were chasing after some poor fellow, but in this form... well, he was ashamed to admit that it rather excited him. It wasn't often that creatures such as those came this close to the Shire - not since the Fell Winter.

But Bilbo didn't hesitate to bound into the clearing, tearing his teeth into the closest, grotesque limb he could find. The Orcs were already wounded, and certainly weren't all that skilled with their scrappy blades. Their blood didn't even spill into his fur as they fell.

He was left standing face-to-face with a Dwarf. A wounded Dwarf.

One that was quite handsome, he thought.

The Dwarf lifted his blade, as though Bilbo were threatening him. Bilbo didn't blame the man - he was the same size as the Dwarf in this skin, and he had claws and teeth that a Dwarven body did not afford. He would have felt threatened, too.

He tried not to look threatening. He flattened back his ears, and dipped his head. He didn't move.

The Dwarf slowly lowered his blade. "You are no ordinary wolf."

If Bilbo could smile, he probably would have. Instead, he dipped his head in a nod. His eyes were drawn to the Dwarf's injuries - he could smell the blood seeping from a wound somewhere.

Suddenly the Dwarf pitched forwards. Bilbo darted to catch him, feeling the Dwarf slump against his side.

_Well then._

 

He carried the Dwarf back to his home. It was a little challenging, but Bilbo found that it was easier to get him up the steps and through the front door after he'd shifted back, despite their significant size difference. 

It took a few hours for the Dwarf to come to. Bilbo made sure to clean and dress his wound, just to avoid infection. He had the fire in the hearth going, and the Dwarf was swaddled in several blankets (because one Hobbit-sized blanket would simply not do).

When he awoke, he was understandably confused. The Dwarf had rather pretty dark blue eyes, and although he startled when he woke he didn't move to draw his sword or lunge at Bilbo.

"How are you feeling?" Bilbo asked, offering him a lukewarm cup of tea.

The Dwarf glanced down at his wound, of which he could see through a tear in his tunic. "Better." He murmured. "The wolf...?"

"That was me." Bilbo said. "Why were Orcs chasing you through these parts? We don't often see them here."

"I lost my way." The Dwarf mutters. "Twice." 

Bilbo chuckled. "My name is Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins."

"Thorin Oakenshield." The Dwarf replied. "At your service."

 

He was a rather interesting Dwarf, Bilbo thought. He'd been on the way to the mountains further past the Shire where Bilbo knew there were Dwarven colonies. He was due there in another few months, but had decided to travel earlier - after healing, he decided to spend more time with Bilbo instead, which the Hobbit didn't mind at all. 

He was rather fond of Thorin.

They got along well, too. Bilbo didn't know what it was about the Dwarf, but he was oddly alluring. When it was finally time for Thorin to travel to the mountains, Bilbo nervously offered to accompany him. Thorin had accepted his company, grinning, and then they'd set off.

It really was an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really difficult to write, ahh T^T I actually had almost a 1,000 words written, but it just wasn't working so I changed it to this, but I'm still not happy~ I think my Ancient History exam just exhausted me today, writing isn't coming as easily as it normally would ^^"
> 
> But at least I have a two week break now! My exam timetable is really spaced out, ahh ^___T
> 
> I actually had something very angsty in mind completely, after watching a certain scene from the BOTFA EE on tumblr (by accident). I've never actually been so upset by something fictional ^_____T


	16. In It For The Thrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a secret.

There was a tale Bilbo's father used to whisper to him during the middle of the night when there was none other to hear, not even his mother.

He told of the origins of Hobbit's, of how they used to be, how it was so different from how they are now. In the first ages, when war was always around the corner, Halflings were more valued as fodder than as anything else. It used to frighten Bilbo, but it excited him too, to learn of the powers Halflings used to have.

"We used to be like skin-changers." His father would whisper, hands splayed wide in exciting displays as though he could tell the story through only his gestures. "But Hobbits weren't quite the same. The way they were before, and the way they were after they changed - their was no in-between. If you changed with your clothes on, you'd change back and they'd still be there, undamaged."

Bilbo's eyes had widened. "Like magic!"

"Yes! Like magic." His father had chuckled. "We were magic, Bilbo! Isn't that exciting?"

It had been very exciting.

But as the ages progressed, Hobbits grew out of that magic. It dwindled until it never appeared again.

Until the Fell Winter.

There was one skin-changer during that winter. Not Bilbo's mother, nor his father, but instead an older woman from across the hills where Bilbo wasn't allowed to wander. She'd been killed, no match for the wolves and the Orcs that tore apart the Shire. Even if she'd lived, the icy conditions and severe shortage of food would have killed someone of her age in no time.

Many people died during the attacks, and many more in starvation afterwards. Bilbo's mother didn't die like that, but his father did. Gone, with no more stories to be told ever again - Bilbo had been too young to understand, too young to understand how his mother withered away without his father around, too.

And then he was all alone.

Bilbo sometimes remembered seeing the old woman down at the markets. Her eyes had been very brown, her face very worn with something more than age. There were lines around her lips that Bilbo thought held many secrets that had never been told. He thought that even though he'd never met her, he'd understood her more than anyone in the entire Shire. 

At his lowest point in life, during his mid-twenties when he was alone and unmarried and outcast by his social group in the Shire, he discovered he was like that woman.

He thinks his father might have known, but he'd never know if that was true or not. It was a painful process, learning to control it. He didn't think he was any bigger than a simple fox when he shifted, and he was not entirely sure what he looked like. Furry, for certain, with a plumed tail and big ears. Very similar to foxes, he assumed. 

It was a lonely existence.

 

One day, many years later when Bilbo was perfectly set in his boorish ways, a meddling Wizard and thirteen Dwarves invaded his home.

Bilbo wasn't sure if the Wizard knew of his... affliction. The Wizard was certainly quite familiar with his mother, it seemed, but that meant little in his eyes. He was more concerned with the state of his home with the Dwarven invasion - his entire pantry had been raided and cleared out, right down to every last tomato!

They were rather intimidating, if he were being completely honest. 

Secretly, Bilbo thought Gandalf may have been the most intimidating of them all. 

_A burglar!_ He was certainly no such thing, he'd never stolen a thing in his life, not intentionally! He couldn't possibly be of help to these Dwarves, and was very adamant that he wished to remain firmly planted in his armchair amongst his books and his garden, thank you very much. 

Then he'd heard them sing. There, in front of his fireplace, they'd spun a tale of something that shook him to the core.

He _wanted_ to take what Thorin Oakenshield was (begrudgingly) offering him. 

He just didn't know if he would survive it.

 

In the end, he accompanied the Dwarves on their journey. It was painstaking trying to learn all their names - he still couldn't tell Kili and Fili apart, and finding out they were Thorin's nephews was a shock to the system - and he was very sore after sitting in a saddle for so long.

Balin told him of Thorin's history one night. It certainly was an impressive tale, one that not even his mother's adventurous mind could of fathomed, he was sure. Bilbo had never heard anything like it.

He thought that maybe he'd made the right decision coming on this quest of theirs.

Then he'd been sneezed on by a bloody troll. 

The whole troll incident had just been one mistake after another. At one point, he'd been tempted to change skins, but the thought had quickly been perished. The fight with the trolls had showed him just how close and coordinated the Dwarves actually were.

He'd never seen anything like it. They moved like liquid, flowing and moulding to the shape of one another in an endless sequence of attacks that had him dizzy. They were extremely coordinated, more than any other race in the whole of Middle Earth, Bilbo thought.

He hadn't really done much in that battle. He'd set the ponies free, yes, but he did get caught by the foul trolls - twice. He'd managed to buy enough time for Gandalf to arrive, too, but he didn't think that was much. He had insulted the Dwarves, after all, even if it was for the better.

The next day he'd been exhausted. The weight of a sword on his hip was uncomfortable, and he wanted to sleep anywhere but in his saddle. Being captured by the trolls didn't mean they got to catch up on sleep the next day, of course, not with a quest to complete.

He'd fallen asleep in the saddle eventually, much to his displeasure. 

Was nearly going to fall out and seriously hurt himself when someone caught him.

"Don't fall asleep, burglar." Thorin told him gruffly, without looking him in the eyes. "You'll slow us down."

Bilbo was oddly touched.

 

Thorin's caring nature - if it could even be called that - didn't last long.

In fact, it disappeared altogether. Like it hadn't even existed in the first place. Bilbo didn't want to admit he was disappointed, but he sort of was. There were many nights he was plagued with insecurities. He felt isolated, and alone, more so than he had done in the Shire. He missed his niceties and the comforts of his home terribly. 

The thunder battle only made it worse.

_"He's been lost since he left his home!"_

Bilbo started to feel isolated again, after that. He didn't belong amongst the Dwarves, it wasn't his place. Wasn't his home he was fighting so hard to regain. What use to them was he, anyway? He was pitiful. 

He'd tried to leave, but Bofur had confronted him, and he found himself feeling worse than ever. Bofur was such a cheerful person, always joking, never mean. He always looked out for Bilbo, and to see him looking so crushed made Bilbo feel awful.

He didn't have time to dwell on those feelings, not when the floor suddenly collapsed from beneath them.

The goblin tunnels were terrifying. When the other Dwarves were yanked away by a barrage of grotesque goblins, Bilbo was knocked over the crude railing and sent tumbling down into the depths of the mountain. 

It took him ages to find the way out. Half the time he was chased by some deformed creature that kept shouting out _"Precious! Precious, meaty, juicy, plump precious!"_ like he was some kind of _meal._ It was terrifying, and without the enhanced senses of his other skin it was difficult to manoeuvrer through the tunnels. 

Every button had even popped off his waistcoat! It had been very disappointing, he thought, but he was glad he'd been able to escape with his life.

He was elated to see the Dwarves had escaped, too. Even Gandalf was with them!

Of course, he'd been berated by Thorin then. He knew he was a disappointment - that he hadn't struggled against the goblins like they had. Suddenly one hungry creature didn't seem quite so terrifying as it had before. But he'd made it, hadn't he? He took that as a victory. 

_"Look, I know you doubt me, I know you always have. And you're right... I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, and my armchair, and my garden. See, that's where I belong, that's home. That's why I came back... 'cause you don't have one, a home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can."_

He'd meant every word he'd said. These Dwarves - there was something about them, something that made Bilbo's heart race. They were like a family, and he craved the involvement. He wanted to mean something to them - mean something to Thorin. 

Then Azog had appeared.

Being that close to Wargs... it petrified Bilbo. The closest he'd been to animals like that was the Fell Winter, and flashes of his father's death haunted him. The first Warg he killed didn't even count, it ran itself right into his sword, and it didn't help to quell his fears.

Their howls and the sounds they made deep in their chests are what truly shook him. It was so much like the Fell Winter, and spoke directly to his other form, the animalistic side of him driven by instincts that he'd had locked up air tight for too many years to remember. 

By far, however, the scariest thing he did that day was save Thorin Oakenshield.

 

He was still shaking when the Eagles dropped them on Carrock. 

His limbs trembled and each breath was difficult. Something felt like it was buzzing beneath his skin, aching to be released, but he stubbornly refused to let it out. He just wanted to sleep, but Thorin...

Thorin was still alive. His yells of pain as the White Orc's Warg chewed him like he was nothing more than a toy echoed in Bilbo's head like a bad memory. Nevertheless, the Dwarven King lived.

He'd thought everything had been okay, but then Thorin had spoke.

"You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden, that you would not survive in the wild and that you have no place amongst us?"

Bilbo wanted to cry. It was like being shunned all over again, being told he wasn't wanted.

"I've never been so wrong in all my life."

Thorin was tall, Bilbo found. Even though his armour and his cloak Bilbo could feel the hard planes of his broad shoulders, and the thickness of his arms. Thorin was tall for a Dwarf, and he made Bilbo feel effortlessly small. 

The warmth of his embrace lingered for days.

 

They'd been travelling through a mountainous range when they were confronted by something Bilbo never imagined.

A bear, bigger than a normal bear, monstrous to a Hobbit of his statue, chased them out of the forest and across a meadow to a house nestled against a scenic backdrop. 

It was only when they were safely locked inside after shutting out the bear's snout that Gandalf explained why he'd tossed them into something so unknown.

"That is our host."

"He's a skin-changer." Bilbo breathed, eyes alight with something akin to fear. 

Gandalf gave him a curious look, as did several of the Dwarves.

Their eyes were like brands that seared his skin.

"His name is Beorn, " Gandalf said, "He is a skin-changer. Sometimes he’s a huge black bear, sometimes he’s a great strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However, he is not over fond of dwarves."

Not particularly what Bilbo wanted to hear, but he didn't question it. He hadn't thought skin-changers still lived. They were different to Hobbits like him - their forms transitioned, like they were born with more than one body - it was their own enchantment. 

They didn't retain their clothes, either. 

The company was put to rest as they awaited Beorn's arrival.

Bilbo chose a spot against a central post, nestled in comparably soft hay. It was nothing like his bed at home, but it was better than sleeping on the ground as he had become accustomed to doing. He was startled when Thorin took a seat beside him.

"You knew he was a skin-changer." Thorin stated. 

Bilbo didn't answer. Didn't know how.

"How did you know?"

Bilbo glanced away, cringing. He didn't want to lie, not to Thorin, but he had no other choice. "I... my father told me tales of them." He eventually murmured. "I didn't believe any existed still."

It was a good enough answer - Thorin seemed amenable for now. "I do not know much of Hobbits." He murmured. "But you seem to know much of skin-changers."

Bilbo hid his wince. "I suppose... There are old tales of Hobbits... I'm familiar with the concept, but I've never met a skin-changer. Not until today." Technically, that was true. The woman from the Shire - he'd never met her, not properly. 

Thorin nodded, but his eyes were oddly perceptive. Bilbo didn't want to know what he was thinking, but Thorin seemed content with what Bilbo had told him and left Bilbo on his own. 

Bilbo fell into a restless sleep feeling rather guiltily. His rest didn't for long, feeling too fitful. It couldn't have been for more than a few hours when he woke to the sound of the door opening. Beorn had returned.

Bilbo stood, feeling somewhat nauseous. Beorn was exceedingly tall - the gigantic furniture looked small for him. Bilbo didn't think he'd seen anyone as tall as the skin-changer.

"Little bunny, it was you I smelt." Beorn rumbled, eyes startlingly open as he stared down at Bilbo unabashedly. "What are you?"

"A Hobbit." Bilbo answered, as soon as he was away from the slumbering Dwarves. "A Halfling."

"You are one I have never come across." Beorn says, guiding Bilbo further through his house, out of ear-shot. "I have never smelt a scent like yours... it is muddled, like it is not complete."

Bilbo glanced to the side. "Yes... I believe I know why that is."

"Are you like me?" Beorn asked. "No, your scent is strange. You have not changed."

"I can't." Bilbo whispered. "I'm not like you."

"Explain."

Beorn didn't give Bilbo much option - it wasn't a question. He didn't particularly want to challenge their host, not when Beorn was at least if not more than double his height, and twice as wide too. He truly was terrifying, but Bilbo had become immune to those sort of things. He wasn't the same Hobbit that had left the Shire anymore.

"If I change, then this form is... preserved." Bilbo told him. "When I change back, I'll be like this, clothes and all."

"And what happened in your other form?"

Bilbo gripped his arms tightly. Beorn was surprisingly observant. "Bad things." He whispered. "I got- I got hurt, real badly. I'm too... too frightened to change skins. I don't know if I'd have the mind to be able to change back, and I'd rather be perpetually stuck in this form."

"I can help." Beorn said. "I think. I am good at taking care of animals, good at understanding the change. I can help."

 

Bilbo was ashamed to admit that he was considering taking up Beorn's offer. Beorn met the Dwarves the next day - and was noticeably displeased, like Gandalf had said - but nothing bad had happened. They remained there for the entire day, recuperating, because there was no way any of them could continue travelling with an Orc pack behind them in this condition.

Gandalf cornered Bilbo during the day. "You spoke with Beorn."

Bilbo startled. "I did." He admitted.

"What did you speak of?"

"Nothing in particular." Bilbo answered, frowning. 

Gandalf watched him for a moment. "Did he offer you something?"

Bilbo glanced up at Gandalf, eyes stricken. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, only after floundering open-mouthed for a while. Did Gandalf know, then?

"If he's offered you something," Gandalf said, "And you're amenable, then I suggest you take it. I would not have brought you here if I didn't trust Beorn, and I think you could do with some help."

"What is that meant to mean?" Bilbo asked, brow furrowing again.

Gandalf stood, looking down at him briefly. "You are not the same Hobbit that left the Shire, Bilbo Baggins." He murmured. "I know you have more to offer, so offer it."

 

Bilbo took Beorn up on his offer after a conversation he had with Thorin during the afternoon. The Dwarf spoke of his home, of his life in Erebor. He looked more wistful and open than Bilbo had ever seen him. It set his heart racing. 

Bilbo wanted to help him. He really did.

Truthfully, the decision to face his fears came from his want to _overcome_ them. He wanted the freedom that changing skins offered him. He didn't want it to feel like a just a dream anymore. He didn't want to become like that old woman, with secrets on her lips that would never be spoken. 

That future scared him more than the injuries and the pain ever could. 

He followed the skin-changer into the backyard that night, when all the Dwarves were asleep, to where the grass was soft and the moonlight was bright. There was a shed where Beorn retrieved what looked like a first-aid kit. 

"You must change skins, and then I will fix you." Beorn said, turning to face him. "You must hold that form."

Bilbo nodded, wringing his hands nervously. He felt choked up, like he wanted to scream or cry or hide. Possibly all three. "And if I can't?"

Beorn didn't answer, but that was fine. Bilbo knew the answer. _If I can't, I'll probably die. That's too much strain on my body after all these years..._

"Off you go then, little bunny." Beorn said. "Show me what you are."

 

The shift itself was more painful then he remembered. Bones crackling and reshaping sounded just as painful as it looked, and he couldn't help but cry out as everything changed and snapped into place.

It was always the brief moment of transformation that disorientated him. When he came to he was whimpering and yowling loudly, sounds that didn't come from his normal form. He felt blinded by pain, and felt limp.

Impossibly large hands soothed his wounds. It took what felt like hours for the medicine to quell his pain, and even then he was left numb and panting as Beorn bandaged the wounds he'd sustained.

Last time he'd been in this form, it was in the forests outside of Hobbiton. Hobbits didn't stray that way often - it was a good place for him to stretch his limbs in, or so he had thought. Men from a town further than Bree had heard tales of a golden fox had been sighted in those forests, and in their greed acted on the rumours.

They set traps - violent ones, ones that he didn't even think were legal. He'd fallen straight into one, completely unknowing. It had torn through his flank, because he was too small for it to just clamp around his leg like he thought it was meant to. The scent of blood, of _his_ blood, it had overwhelmed him. He'd changed back, squirmed out of the trap and limped his way back home.

The wound had healed, eventually, but not on his other skin. He never shifted again.

But now he was, and he was in pain, and he was scared. He wanted to go home.

"Calm down, little bunny." Beorn told him, but he sounded far away, and scary. 

Bilbo only cried louder, frightened when his limbs didn't cooperate. He could hardly think straight, let alone listen and obey orders, even from intimidating people like Beorn. It was a sensory overload.

Beorn lifted him, ignoring Bilbo's cries. He must have drawn the attention of the company, because he could hear them clamouring and shouting, even with his ears pinned back against his skull.

"Take him." Beorn said, before he was being thrust into someone's arms.

It was Gandalf that held him. A hand passed over his eyes, and a soft murmur in a language he wasn't familiar with coiled through his ears and soothed the confusion muddling his brain. His cries died down to pitiful whimpers. 

"Thorin, take care of him." Gandalf muttered, passing Bilbo down into thicker arms. "He'll quieten down eventually, I must speak with Beorn. I did not expect this to happen..."

"What has happened?" Thorin demanded, but Gandalf was gone.

"He's a skin-changer." Someone murmured.

"No, he's different. He's not like the bear."

"He's injured..."

"Take him inside, Thorin." Balin said - Bilbo faintly recognised his voice. "Get him wrapped up, the poor thing is shivering. Some warmth will do him the world of good."

The temperature inside Beorn's house was indeed warmer. Bilbo was aware that he was being swaddled in something that smelt strongly of Thorin - it might have been his cloak, which only embarrassed Bilbo further. 

Thorin took a seat, and held Bilbo closer. He was irresistibly warm, as was the hand that he placed on Bilbo's back, above the bandages. Bilbo whined, seeking the affection, which Thorin surprisingly offered as he swaddled Bilbo in his cloak further.

It didn't take long for him to pass out like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long, ahhh ^___T
> 
> I'm really feeling shifter!Bilbo at the moment, and have all these great ideas in my head, but the result is this? Hmm... It was getting too long to possibly edit in one night, so I might do a part two if there's interest...?


	17. In It For The Thrill Pt.II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sides are taken and affections are won.

Bilbo woke up feeling feverish and overwhelmed. The scents in Beorn's home were strong, and startling, and despite being swaddled in Thorin's coat they still plagued him.

It was difficult to coordinate his limbs. His tail added an element of uncertainty to his steps, and he found himself wobbling on his feet as he crawled out from the cocoon of Thorin's cloak. 

The Dwarves were seated at Beorn's large table. It was late breakfast, from what he could gather, although he wasn't particularly hungry. If anything, he wanted something to drink and to figure out how to stretch all his cramped limbs. 

"Ah, Bilbo." Gandalf was the first to spot him stumbling his way over. "I see you've awakened."

Heads turned, but Bilbo hardly had the strength to feel embarrassed as he gingerly crawled across lumps of displaced hay. Every part of him felt sensitive, right from the tip of each whisker to the voluptuous tail he sported. It was a tad bit painful.

Bilbo caught Beorn's gaze for a moment, but couldn't hold it. He felt rather insignificant from all the way down on the floor, like he'd done something wrong, or was in the middle of doing something wrong. Anxiously, he pressed his ears back. 

"Can he not shift back?" Thorin asked suddenly, eyes riveted to the spot Bilbo seemed to want to sink into.

"It is unlikely." Beorn rumbled, pouring Fili a pitcher of milk almost absently. "He has barely any control, and it would be painful to force it. Allow it to happen naturally, in time."

Bilbo's ears perked back up at that. Beorn had just about hit the nail on the head. He cetainly had no idea how to control it - no one had ever told him how to, and it wasn't like he could instinctvely figure it out. It didn't work like that.

"You should eat." Beorn said, reaching down to scoop Bilbo up with one large hand and deposit him unceremoniously on the tabletop, right in front of the basket full of bread.

Bilbo startled, stiffening as he was dumped on the table. This was _not_ proper etiquette, who knew how dirty his paws could be? This would just not do! And yet, he was frozen on his place, glancing around nervously to see if anyone looked truly offended by his current disposition. 

No one did, and Bilbo had the brief thought of _of course not, they're Dwarves!_ To which he thought was rather ridiculous, of course, but nonetheless true.

Hesitantly, he reached out and pawed at a chunk of bread until it rolled to a stop in front of him. It was quite uncouth, but he started nibbling at it either way, slouching against the tabletop with his limbs splayed out in the most comfortable position he could afford. 

Breakfast progressed relatively well. The Dwarves, Gandalf and Beorn spoke briefly of their quest - that they had to make it to the Elven woods before nightfall. Beorn offered them his ponies, however they could not leave until it was closer to nightfall, but before the sun completely set. It would offer them more protection from the eyes of the Orcs pursuing them.

Bilbo was glad to have the time to recuperate. He was still having trouble with that damned tail of his. Without it functioning properly, he simply couldn't balance himself at all. 

It was quite tragic, really, to be trapped in a body that didn't feel like his own.

 

Beorn helped him control his body as best he could during the day, before they had to leave. He was a very hands-on instructor, constantly moving Bilbo's limbs and heaving him up when he toppled over.

Despite feeling a little silly, Bilbo rather appreciated the help. 

Eventually he had full mobility. He found that once he got the hang of it, walking on four legs was laughably simple. Beorn seemed amused as Bilbo chased after the large bees that buzzed around Beorn's home, vainly concealed with the excuse of stretching his legs. 

That is until he crashed right into Kili, of course, who had come out to see what all the ruckus was about. 

The Dwarf toppled right over with a startled shout, even as Bilbo rolled right over his head and onto the stone pathway behind him with a short yelp. 

Bilbo shook his head to dislodge the leaves stuck in his fur, and glanced back at the Kili. The Dwarf was rubbing his head, staring at Bilbo incredulously. Bilbo wanted to apologize, but his lack of appropriate vocal cords made that somewhat difficult.

And then a bee flew at his head challengingly, and he was utterly distracted. 

He darted to his feet, tail between his legs as he rushed away from the bee. It was fun when he chased them, but the situation reversed was significantly different. As he dove behind a rock, several other Dwarves came outside, drawn by Kili's shocked noise.

"What happened?" Thorin asked, helping his nephew upright.

"It seems our burglar has gained his feet!" Kili exclaimed. "The bees are chasing him."

Thorin narrowed his eyes, glancing at Beorn.

"The Halfling started it." Beorn stated dismissively. Bilbo supposed he deserved that - he did, in fact, start the chasing in the first place.

However when the chance to dart inside and out of range of the flying terrors arose, he didn't hesitate. Inside the home was much safer, he decided. Still, he felt rather exhilarated. It was oddly freeing to be back like this, even if he didn't have the proper control over it just yet.

 

When they left Beorn's home, Bilbo was sort of disappointed. He thought that maybe Beorn was the only person in all of Middle Earth that knew of what he was feeling. They weren't exactly the same, and Beorn had suffered much more in his life than Bilbo ever would, but it was a feeling of likeness he hadn't ever felt before.

Bilbo made a promise to himself that he would go back and visit Beorn, even if just once.

 

Mirkwood was a sickly place. After they freed the ponies, Bilbo kept close to Thorin's ankles, ears pressed back nervously. The forest felt... sick.

It was difficult to explain, but the place was extremely unnerving.

When Gandalf left them, Bilbo got increasingly worried. It shouldn't have been difficult to follow the Elven path through the forest, but it seemed as though the branches were playing tricks on them. His legs felt heavy as they ventured further and further into the thicket, and his ears felt as though they had been stuffed with cotton.

It was no surprise that they lost their way.

He felt like he was walking backwards.

Then the spiders had come. They descended from the trees like rain, spinning webs of thick silk and hissing words that hurt Bilbo's ears. He'd darted away from the group, feeling vulnerable without his sword in his confusion, and the spiders hadn't seen him.

They'd taken the Dwarves, wrapped them like the dead in silk strands, but Bilbo followed.

It was strangely enlightening to watch the bodies fall through the trees to the ground, even if they did make a loud thump. Bilbo was just glad his teeth were sharp enough to chew through the webs. They tasted foul, but it was necessary. 

"Where's Bilbo?" Bofur shouted as he tore the webs from his hair. 

Bilbo barked loudly, and their heads shot upwards. In the quickness of it all, a spider lunged forwards, screeching as its legs tore Bilbo from the branch. He howled in pain as he hit the forest floor, quickly scrambling out of the way of a spider that bared its fangs at him.

A thrum drilled beneath his skin, like a shock of lightning. His legs collapsed as he slipped down a short embankment, tumbling under a protruding tree root where his body lay, rocked with spasms. For a moment, he was sure he would change-skins - he could all but _taste_ it lingering in his skin. It was painful, so painful he couldn't even whimper.

For a moment, he even blacked out. But only for a moment.

When he came around properly, he was still faced with his furry form. His legs were tingling, and not in a pleasant way, but his form seemed to have stabilised. He wouldn't be able to change back just quite yet.

It took a moment of sorting the sounds making mud in his ears, but eventually he heard distinguished voices that were not from those in the company.

_Elves?_

The Woodland Elves had come to slay the spiders, he found. When he eventually staggered back to the clearing, he saw the Dwarves being disarmed and shoved along like criminals.

_Where are they taking them?_

Although it hurt, he followed them, rushing to keep pace with the limber Elves. The forest floor was uneven and half-rotted, and he stumbled several times, dirtying his fur. He was too slow to follow the Elves into their home, and was instead faced with a pair of great, closing doors and a last suspicious look from the Elven Prince. Maybe he'd sensed Bilbo.

After several moments of hiding in the trees, Bilbo carefully crept out and started searching for a way in.

 

It was well past nightfall when he finally found a way in. It took even longer to work his way through the winding tunnels. Elves would patrol the corridors, and he had to escape their view. He didn't know if he would be treated as another forest animal or if they would sense he was something different. 

After accidentally eavesdropping on the Elven King, an impressive man named Thranduil, Bilbo eventually found his way down to the cellars. Talk of barrels led him to formulating his escape route, and then the drunken Elves, poor things, left the keys right out in the open.

When they'd slumped across the tables, he retrieved the keys and hurried to find the Dwarves.

Thorin's cell was the first he came across. The keys jingled in his mouth annoyingly, but it grabbed Thorin's attention as he squeezed through the bars to hand them over to the Dwarven King.

"Burglar!" Thorin exclaimed in a hushed tone. "Are you hurt?"

Bilbo let out a surprised trill when Thorin heaved him up, but shook his head. 

Thorin took the keys and unlocked his door with surprising dexterity, and didn't place Bilbo down as he rushed to unlock the next cell. There was a commotion as the Dwarves started realising Bilbo had come to release them, but a warning huff from Bilbo had them quietening. 

Despite appreciating Thorin's hold, Bilbo leapt back down to the floor and ran in the direction of the stairs, hoping the Dwarves would understand. After a brief moment of confusion, Thorin followed him, and the Dwarves moved to follow their leader with a great amount of trust.

When he rounded the corner into the cellar, Bilbo slowed. Carefully he lowered his paws onto the next set of stairs, ears perked high. His body language had all noise from the Dwarves disappearing. 

Only after confirming that the Elves on guard were still slumped over did he rush past the tall stacks of wine. The Dwarves followed him around the bend where the barrels were all lined up in neat stacks.

Bilbo, cursing his lack of a voice, jerked his head towards the barrels. He fidgeted, antsy on his feet. 

"You want us to get in the barrels?" Bofur whispered incredulously. 

_Get in the bloody barrels already!_

Thorin stared at him for a moment, and upon feeling his stare Bilbo turned to match it, pleading for Thorin to understand. The Dwarven King only waited a moment before murmuring, "Do as he says."

Bilbo wanted to collapse in relief, but instead he paced as the Dwarves squished themselves inside the barrels.

Bofur stuck his head back out. "What do we do now?"

Bilbo huffed, turning to face the lever at the other end of the barrel line. He hoped the Dwarves would forgive him as he took a running leap at the lever, crashing into it with enough force to open the hatchet. The Dwarves let out shocked cries as the barrels tumbled into the river below. 

It was a noisy affair, certainly enough to wake the guards.

Nevertheless, Bilbo felt a little proud of himself. That is, until he realised he was still stuck up there.

He cringed as he ran to the end of the hatchet that had opened. Helplessly, he banged on it with his front paws. He wasn't heavy enough to tip it himself, but as he really hit the end of the planks hard they suddenly fell open and he was sent flying into the water below.

For a moment, it was like he was drowning.

Then hands were grabbing at him, hauling him up by the scruff of the neck.

"Job well done, Mister Baggins." Thorin said, ignoring Bilbo's claws as they sunk into his arm, seeking a grip of some kind. Bilbo hardly had time to dwell on the praise as the sound of the rushing feet of Elves filled his water-logged ears. 

The rapids suddenly grabbed a hold of the barrels, and they were sent spiralling down the river.

Bilbo spluttered and whined as water splashed over his head. Being this size in such a tough river was daunting. His claws were digging into either Thorin or the soaked wood of the barrel for purchase, leaving marks in their wake. 

He jerked when the sound of an Elvish horn blew. Almost instinctively he hauled himself up onto the edge of the barrel and let out a tremendous howl, as loudly as he could.

"What's his problem?" Dwalin shouted, turning around to stare at Bilbo as if he'd grown another head.

Bilbo only howled louder.

"He's muffling the sound of the horn!" Balin realised. "He's buying us time!"

The barrel shook as the rapids led them further down the river. Out of nowhere, an army of Orcs descended onto the banks, releasing arrows into the air.

Bilbo screeched as one whizzed by his ears.

The Elves emerged from their city in flashes and twirls of dangerously glinting blades and an effortless, quiet grace. 

Thorin gripped Bilbo with both hands around the waist and shoved him deep into the barrel as the Elves started shouting. The horn was blown again, and this time, without Bilbo's voice to muffle it, the Elves at the gate were alerted to their presence.

Even with the Orcs attacking, the Elves started to close the gate.

By the time it shut, Bilbo was certain everyone had gotten through uninjured. 

He was attempting to crawl back up to the top of the barrel when the rapids sent them spinning. Dizzily, he hit the side of the barrel and knocked his head.

He was out in an instance.

 

By the time they made it to Laketown after bribing Bard the Bargeman, he was cold and whimpering and miserable and he smelt terribly of fish. 

Thorin held him in his arms still, stubbornly refusing to let anyone else care for the Burglar, let alone to show Bard exactly what Bilbo was. He was swaddled in Thorin's coat again, and even though it was as wet as he was it was surprisingly comforting to be hidden away from the world and the prying eyes of Men. 

When they settled in at the Bargeman's home, and were offered dry clothing, Bard caught sight of him.

"I've never seen a fox with that colour of fur before." Bard observed, watching Thorin suspiciously. "That's quite a rare creature you covert."

"This is not a creature." Thorin answered bitterly. "He is a friend, not a possession."

Bard looked shocked at the nature of Thorin's reply. Bilbo was too, if he were being honest, but for a different reason. He was surprised at Thorin's affection, if it could be called that. Bard was more likely surprised at how selfless Thorin sounded - Dwarves had a reputation of being exceedingly greedy, after all. 

"Dry him, then." Bard tossed over a towel, turning away. "Lest your _friend_ catch cold."

Thorin accepted the towel, and started rubbing behind Bilbo's ears. Bilbo glanced up at him, eyes big, and Thorin held his gaze.

He felt rather connected at that moment.

 

Bilbo was mostly in and out of consciousness as they gathered weapons and stole away towards the mountain. He was becoming increasingly exhausted in this form, and he ached to change skins again.

It wasn't as easy as he remembered it to be. 

When the door proved impossible to find and the light of the sun dipped away, Bilbo felt helpless. Thorin had looked so... _crushed_ as he dropped the key and turned to follow the Dwarves back down the mountain.

Bilbo whimpered anxiously, pacing back and forth as he replayed the riddle in his mind over and over. They had to have missed something! 

Absently, he scooped up the key and turned to face the mountain. He took it all in - the stone, the patterns of the clouds on the wall, the thrush banging a shell against the rock. It's repetitive noisiness was like a burst of air that cleared his mind. 

_The last light of Durin's day! It's the moon!_

He barked loudly, jumping up from his spot to project his voice down the mountain. He barked and barked, hoping they'd hear him, as he raced back to the wall. The moon would shine on the keyhole, he was sure of it! 

In his excitement he dropped the key, and only noticed when the Dwarves arrived as Thorin stooped to pick both the key and Bilbo himself up. Bilbo purred in satisfaction, watching as Thorin pressed the key into the keyhole to open up the door.

 

Find the stone, don't wake the dragon.

It couldn't have possibly been any clearer. 

_Where did I go so wrong?_

 

Thorin was sick, very sick. He wanted the Arkenstone, but Bilbo had hidden it. He wouldn't tell where it was, not when he felt nauseous just thinking about it. 

Laketown had been destroyed and Bard had killed the dragon, but the worst was yet to come.

 

Bilbo gave the Arkenstone to Bard and Thranduil. Gandalf was there, too.

When Thorin found out, he threw Bilbo from the ramparts.

 

Thranduil was the one to take him in, to heal him. It was Elvish magic that cured his wounds, and in the mayhem of it all, Bilbo shifted back.

It was painful, more painful than the first shift back at Beorn's. He screamed and thrashed the entire time, crying out even as Thranduil and Gandalf moved to sooth him. He felt connected to his other skin, foreign in his normal one. He felt off balanced and sick and sweaty. 

"You did not tell me that the Dwarves' golden fox was a Halfling." Thranduil told Gandalf. In his silky and ethereal voice, it sounded dangerously like an accusation. 

"And yet you still saved him."

"He can be of further use."

Bilbo just wanted to be back with his Dwarves.

 

The battle raged when Dain arrived. Bilbo was frightened of him, still felt skewed in this skin. Gandalf had pleaded Thorin to be reasonable, but the sickness had taken him. There was nothing they could do to help him like this.

Bilbo felt queasy just thinking about it. 

When the Orcs arrived, when _Azog_ arrived, everything went wrong. Very wrong.

Grievously, in the middle of the battle, Bilbo lost sight of Gandalf. He'd never been so frightened, not since the Fell Winter - he shifted then, forced it upon himself. He needed to be faster, he needed...

He didn't know what he needed, but for some reason he thought that maybe his other skin could offer him whatever it was.

Ignoring Gandalf's previous orders, he raced towards the mountain. 

He found Thorin pinned to the ice by Azog. Fear unlike anything he'd ever felt ripped through him, and without a single thought he snarled and leap forwards.

Azog yelled as Bilbo's sharp teeth tore into the flesh of his throat. Blood spilled into his mouth, but he could hardly taste it. 

The White Orc gripped him like he was nothing more than an errant fly and tossed him across the ice. He hit the surface of the frozen waterfall with a sickening crunch. Pain shattered through Bilbo's bones like fragments of glass, but he still stood.

Thorin was speared through with Azog's blade. He wasn't moving.

Azog staggered as blood poured from his neck, but he still made a move at Thorin.

Bilbo rushed forwards again, leaping into the air. Azog fell back as Bilbo's claws ripped into his tough skin. The weight of the Orc broke the ice beneath them, and they were sent plunging into the frozen water.

It was so cold. 

 

Gandalf waited in the tents set up on the battlefield as Thorin struggled to awaken. He'd been saved by Elven magic, only after much pleading and many promises, including the return of Thranduil's prized starlight gems.

The wizard had never seen a Dwarf look so stricken. Every word Thorin spoke was for the Halfling, or for his wounded, but still living nephews. 

"Where is the Hobbit, Gandalf?" Thorin demanded, gasping as he pushed himself upright. "I must apologise- I must make it up to him, I have many things I need to say-"

"Beorn is searching for him." Is all Gandalf would tell him. 

It had been two days since the battle ended. Gandalf feared he already knew what had happened.

When Beorn's shattering roar echoed through the plains, all the Dwarves of the company gathered. Standing at the edge of the camp, Gandalf joined them. Thranduil and the Elven Prince did too, as did the She-Elf and Bard, and Dain he noticed had come over with more Dwarves to stand behind them.

Beorn slowly exited the thicket of the forest and moved towards them.

No one spoke, not a word.

The skin-changer stopped in front of them, in front of where Thorin was leaning on Dwalin for support, clutching his wound.

Beorn lowered his massive head, his jaws delicately held apart by the bundle of golden fur he carried. He laid Bilbo on the ground, and let out a sound Gandalf could only describe as mournful and lonely.

"No..." Thorin whispered.

Thranduil glanced away, lifting his hand silently. The Elves retreated from the scene, but not far, only far enough to give room for those who knew Bilbo the best to see.

The small, golden fox didn't move, not even when Thorin staggered forwards to shakily lift Bilbo into his arms, as he had done so many times before.

Thorin let out a heart-wrenching wail. _"No!"_

Gandalf turned away, gripping his staff tightly. He met Thranduil's eyes for a moment, and shook his head. There was nothing that could be done. The Men turned away, and left. The Elves did not follow. They would mourn, too, for their love of creatures and those of magic was great, and true.

 _You are not the same Hobbit that left the Shire, Bilbo Baggins,_ Gandalf had told him. "Not the same..." He murmured, but his voice was lost in the uprising of grief that crashed over the company.

Loudest of all was the grief of the King.


	18. Nest Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's nest building tastes are different to Thorin's.

Bilbo is a hummingbird. His wings are a beautiful mix of browns and bronzes gold and honey colours. 

Generally, hummingbirds like him were attracted to other birds like them. For Hobbits living in the Shire, that's what happened - they were thrushes and kingfishers and sparrows and bowerbirds of all shapes and colours. For Bilbo, however, his attraction was to a different taste of wings.

His partner was a crow. Not just any crow, either, but King Thorin, who ruled the great halls of Erebor and could afford all the greatest treasures in the world. To be completely honest, Bilbo hadn't been attracted to him at all, at least not romantically. Gandalf had insisted Bilbo accompany the Dwarves on their quest to reclaim their homeland, of which had been successful (eventually).

Now Bilbo was being courted by Thorin, quite willingly on his behalf. 

They got along marvellously well. Thorin could be quite affectionate when he wished to be, and never denied Bilbo any sort of emotional support he needed. Thorin loved to eat the things Bilbo made too, which was always quite pleasing to the hummingbird. 

The only thing they differed on was opinions on nest building. 

Hummingbirds like Bilbo were quite prolific with their nests. He loved to weave flowers and fill the space with greenery and plump quilts and all things warm and soft. Thorin, however, preferred things to be more practical and orderly. His tastes weren't quite as... _naturalistic_ as Bilbo's.

He did not, however, stop Bilbo from decorating their nest, even when the other Dwarves of Erebor started laughing at it.

Bilbo felt discouraged at that, but Thorin was quick to comfort him.

"I love our nest." He'd said, wings warm and thick around Bilbo's smaller figure. "It doesn't matter what they think, as long as we like it, is that not right? And I love it. It's warm, and comforting, and beautifully decorated. It's very much _you,_ which is something I will never fault."

Of course Bilbo had immediately begun his nesting again, after that. If Thorin was happy, then he was too.

And there was nothing quite as good as a well made nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by DayDreamingAni
> 
> It's short, but I wanted to get used to the concept a bit~ I was unsure whether you meant fully birds or wing!fic, so I went for an ambiguous mix of both? Hopefully, that was the intention. I might flesh out this idea a bit more at a later date~
> 
> I went to a book expo (which was kind of bad) and then to the city with a friend today, so I'm rather exhausted ^^" Good thing is, I finally bought The Hobbit book! Getting into this fandom was a bit of a fling for me, so I'm glad I finally have the opportunity to actually read the book considering I've been into it for so long~ I own some of the movie guides, but not all of them, and I've only skimmed through them, haha ^^" I'm such a bad fan, ahhh
> 
> Also, I'm thinking of doing an alternate ending to _In It For The Thrill_ if anyone's interested? I considered doing it today, but the length of those fics are seriously a lot to handle, and they're an absolute monster to edit ^^" Doing so many words for two days straight is a little tiring when I have to edit and format it all by myself within a certain amount of time, considering they take hours to write too ^____T


	19. Children Of The Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a certain affinity for children - all children, even if they happen to be older than him.

Hobbits were generally known to be gentle folk. That perception often extended to the belief that they were exceptionally receptive to children - with large broods being quite common and their gentle nature in mind, such perceptions were predominantly accurate.

Some Hobbits, however, were exceptionally receptive to children. The little ones flocked around them like bees to flowers, it was truly a lovely thing to witness. 

Hobbits with such a gift generally had many children of their own. Bilbo, however, had none - not even a husband, or a wife, or an eligible suitor. He was an anomaly - many Hobbits in the Shire criticised him for not taking full advantage of his gift, but he was perfectly content to weave stories for the children already in the Shire. He didn't often had any desire to add his own blood into the mix, let alone go through the trouble of finding a partner.

Of course, then Gandalf had startled meddling.

Now he was on a quest with a company of Dwarves who could hardly believe that Hobbits were capable of (and commonly) carrying more than one child during pregnancy.

Bilbo missed the children from the Shire along the journey. Even more so when he simply could not find a place for himself amongst the Dwarves - let alone justify his being amongst them in the eyes of their leader, Thorin Oakenshield. 

Surprisingly, it was Thorin's nephews that made him feel a little more at home.

Kili was rather mischievous. Bilbo thought him to be the youngest of the company - his young features, lack of beard and jovial nature unhindered by the challenges of the world gave off a sense of youthfulness that Bilbo was naturally drawn to. Although he kept calling Bilbo "Mr Boggins" he was still rather likeable, and Bilbo found himself often bringing Kili food and hurrying him along and making sure he was sleeping properly.

Similarly, Fili started receiving the same treatment. He had age over Fili, but Bilbo guessed it wasn't much. He was easily drawn into Kili's antics, and could be just as mischievous if he wished to be, but he had moments of responsibility that Bilbo thought felt beyond his age. Fili was just as active as Kili, but was less hesitant to start a conversation with anything other than a prank of some sort.

Bilbo wondered if his mother-hen tendencies were noticed by the other members of the company. He learnt that Gloin and Bombur already had children - he'd asked Gloin once, and had sat on his pony enraptured for _hours_ while Gloin told exciting tales of his son, Gimli. 

"You didn't have to listen to all of that." Thorin had murmured to him some time later, when Bilbo was restless and unable to sleep and Thorin was on watch duty. 

"Oh, it's quite alright." Bilbo had said, pausing in his pacing to offer a small smile to Thorin. "I rather enjoyed it, to be honest."

Thorin had looked at him a little strangely, but Bilbo was back to his pacing in an attempt to wear himself out enough to sleep. 

It didn't take long for Bilbo to sweep Ori under his wing, too. The Dwarf was smaller than the others, had a higher voice, bigger eyes. He looked much more childlike that either Fili or Kili, but Bilbo knew Ori was older, though he didn't know how much by. A lot about Ori reminded Bilbo faintly of himself, oddly enough - the soft clothing and love of books, perhaps. 

Still, it was probably his mothering of Ori that drew the attention of the company. Dori was the most prolific about doing it, always looking out for his younger sibling, so he was the first to notice.

"You're rather taken with the young ones, aren't you Mr Baggins?" He'd said casually, friendlily.

Bilbo, rather distracted with sewing a button back onto his waistcoat, had startled at the conversation starter. "Am I?"

Dori had nodded, more to himself it seemed. "Do Hobbits have difficult customs when it comes to children?"

"Well, I suppose we must have." Bilbo said, pausing in his sewing. "Hobbits often have large families - why, my mother was one of twelve."

"Twelve!" Balin had exclaimed. "By my beard, I've never heard of that many children in one family!"

"Yes, well she came from a very large and wealthy family. My father was one of five - that is a much more common number. You see, Hobbits are very good at child-bearing. It's not uncommon to have between two and four children at once, though I do know one lass who carried six."

Dori looked like he might faint. "Six? Six babies at once?"

Bilbo nodded, humming thoughtfully. "Yes, well. My mother only had me. I'm not sure why she never had any more children, but she never seemed unhappy with just one child. Either way, there are always many children running about the Shire."

"I can imagine." Balin nodded.

"Some Hobbits are... more tuned into the whims of children than others." Bilbo said. By now, most of the Dwarves had gathered around to listen to him speak why they ate their dinner. Even Thorin had an ear turned towards them. "No one particularly knows why, but there are just some Hobbits that are meant to be around children. They often have many children of their own - I suspect my grandmother on my mother's side was like that, you know. I always hear tales of how much the children loved her, including her own twelve of course."

"How interesting." Balin mused. "So these Hobbits are exceedingly receptive to children?"

Bilbo nodded. "Exactly!" He said. "The old tales used to say that those Hobbits shared close relations to Yavanna, and that the children were receptive to them because they sensed her strong presence."

"And you - are you one of those Hobbits?"

Bilbo flushed a little, and offered a strained smile. "Well, I believe so."

"But you've got no children of your own."

Bilbo shrugged. "There are many children in the Shire, I've never felt particularly inclined to add any of my own. The others in the Shire thought me strange." He chuckled. "But after the death of my parents, I grew accustomed to the life of a bachelor, as they say. I prefer just to spend time with the children."

"So that's why you've taken so well to the youngest in our company." Dori nodded to himself as though he'd solved the greatest riddle yet. "It makes much more sense now, it does."  
Bilbo flushed horribly. "Yes, I... I must apologise for that, I hardly notice when I'm mothering, I truly don't mean offense-"

"I don't mind, Mr Baggins." Ori offered tentatively. "You're very nice to talk to."

Bilbo smiled at him gently. "Thank you, Ori. Do tell me if I'm ever too much, though. I'm sure that by Hobbit standards you're all older than me."

"By Dwarven years they're not." Nori murmured, despite Ori's huffing glare.

Fili and Kili were nodding to themselves. "It all makes sense now." Fili said.

"Now we understand why it's so easy to talk to you!" Kili exclaimed. "Hobbit magic."

"Hobbit magic." Fili agreed.

Bilbo sighed, and turned back to his sewing. _Children..._

Thorin seemed rather intrigued by his gift, too. As the journey progressed (particularly after Carrock) Thorin became more accepting of Bilbo's presence. He often questioned after Bilbo's wellbeing, and was curious about his ability. 

Bilbo rather enjoyed talking with Thorin. The Dwarf had had a hand in raising his nephews, and was pleased that Bilbo got along with them well. In Lake-Town, Bilbo often caught Thorin watching him as he chatted with Bard's lovely three children, and he saw Thorin smile to himself once when they walked through the town and a flock of children varying in age came running up to the Hobbit.

After the trauma of the Battle of the Five Armies had ended, and Thorin had made his peace with Bilbo (though Bilbo found there wasn't much to forgive, as he understood it was the Gold Sickness dictating Thorin's actions and not his own) Bilbo settled in Erebor with the idea of making it his home. He'd miss the Shire, of course, and made regular trips back every summer (even returning once, with a child of dark hair and blue eyes in return - Thorin doted more on Frodo than anyone else, Bilbo thought).

Eventually, Bilbo was made Thorin's Consort - it was no surprise to anyone, as they'd gotten closer throughout the months they'd spent recuperating and rebuilding Erebor. Their relationship was something soft and gentle, slow to build but solid. Their platonic friendship moved into something more romantic without anyone noticing the transition, not even the two themselves.

As the years progressed and the Dwarves started filling the halls, coming from places all over Middle Earth, a rising trend started to happen. More and more Dwarves were carrying out full-term pregnancies, and Dwarven children were starting to become more common.

They started calling Bilbo a good-luck charm, but he liked to think it was Yavanna's blessing.

It was only when a new mother burst into tears as she held his hand and cradled her new born son in her other arm that Bilbo was truly aware of it all.

"They think you're a blessing." Thorin told him one night. "That Mahal has blessed these halls with one who will bring children and new life to all those who are worthy and willing."

"But I'm not..."

Thorin had kissed away his concerns. "Everyone had grown rather fond of you, Bilbo Baggins." He said. "Your presence here has lessened the burden on their minds. It's been a long time since I've seen this many Dwarven children, it's wondrous. I can't thank you enough."

"I've hardly done a thing." Bilbo murmured, but he was smiling. "I do rather enjoy spending time with the children, though. Many of the new parents let me hold their newborns! Isn't that just wonderful? Reminds me of the Shire."

Thorin chuckled. "I'm glad this feels like home."

"It _is_ home." Bilbo huffed, chuckling. "Now, where did your nephews whisk off my little Frodo? They're all due for dinner!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by AsianAussie~


	20. Princely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo accompanies a company of Elves on his first visit to Erebor.

After the Fell Winter, the Hobbits were displaced. Living in the Shire was no longer a viable option, and many were left young and without experience or any parents or relatives left living to look after them.

The displaced Hobbits were escorted, by Rangers who had come to help them in their greatest time of need, to the citadels of the Elves. Halflings, as they were, were rather like the Elves in their ways of peace and wisdom. Their pointed ears led many to believe Hobbits were once part Elf - it helped their relations progress, if nothing else.

Originally, Hobbits lived below the Vales of Anduin. Of course, their race eventually moved north and west where they finally founded the land of the Shire. There was still rumours of a small civilisation of Hobbits living in the Anduin Vale, but it would be too much for the gentle folk of the Shire to travel such a distance and re-root themselves in such a different environment.

Bilbo was one such Hobbit, displaced by the Fell Winter and redeposited in the Greenwood when he was nought but a babe.

He didn't remember much of the Shire, but he remembered enough of his mother and his father to be content.

He was quite comfortable in the Greenwood. He'd made many friends, both amongst the Hobbits residing there and the Elves themselves. He was close with Hamfast Gamgee, a Hobbit, and the Elves Elros and Galion (both of whom had the awful tendency of drinking a little too much wine when allowed, though Bilbo couldn't fault them - it was rather good wine). 

When he was coming of age, he'd found he was quite good at riding. Not the magnificent horses the Elves rode, no, he was far too small in stature for that, but the ponies he could handle marvellously well. 

Eventually, the King Thranduil placed him in charge of them. It was an honour that Bilbo could hardly fathom, but the King was fond of his Hobbit charges, and was pleased with their agricultural developments. Bilbo supposed it helped that he had been the grandson of the Thain from the Shire - almost royalty, but the most royal Hobbit in all of the Greenwood. 

It was exciting to Bilbo, as such, when it was decided that it was his ponies that would accompany a troop of Elves and a handful of horses to a meeting with the Dwarves from the great Erebor. Bilbo, unlike his Hobbit counterparts, had a bit of an adventurous streak, though he had hardly been out of the Elvish gates. 

Still, he didn't hesitate to accept Thranduil's offer. He'd never met a Dwarf before, and despite the scoffs they often got from Elves, Bilbo was quite curious. He'd only heard tales of their great halls and mines of gold and precious gems. Not to mention their _beards._

Bilbo was the only Hobbit to join the company, but he didn't particularly mind. Galion was joining them, although he whined about being apart from Elros (they were usually put together for these kind of things - easier to keep an eye on them, that way) as well as Tauriel and Legolas, the Prince, who would act on behalf of Thranduil. 

They would take three of Bilbo's ponies - Minty, Myrtle and Maisy - to carry provisions and supplies, as well as items of trade that would be too precious for the faster moving horses to carry. Bilbo rode Myrtle, so Minty and Maisy carried the supplies. He was careful not to overload them, but they were strong. He was quite proud, if he were being honest. 

They set out early one morning - Bilbo had barely had any time for second breakfast, but he was too excited to care. Galion was very enthusiastic, too, and chatted with Bilbo for so long into the trip that the others tired of hearing his voice.

Bilbo just laughed. He was too enthralled to care, and he did rather enjoy Galion's company, regardless of his chatty nature. Soon he would be meeting _Dwarves!_ How could he not be so excited?

 

They first made camp once they made it through the Greenwood. They were in no rush, and spent the first night under the clear view of the stars, where they could watch twinkling reflections from Esgaroth on the lake and feel the gentle murmurings of the forest unhindered. Bilbo slept pressed against Galion for warmth - the Elves did not require sleep, but they sometimes entered a mediative state that was similar. 

Most Elves were not unwilling to spend a night huddled with a Hobbit, Bilbo found. Their platonic bonds were quite deep, and quite fulfilling. 

They carried on to the lake's edges the next morning. The Dwarves would meet them at Dale, and accompany them to Erebor from there. It took less than a day for them to traverse Esgaroth and make it to Dale, ponies and horses in tow. All in all, it was a rather leisurely and scenic journey, though they left half a day early so that they could linger.

"The Dwarves should come to escort us within a few hours." Legolas said as he dropped down from his horse. "We shall wait for them."

It seemed that even with their lingering, they had arrived at the meeting point early. Bilbo wanted to chuckle at the thought - quite studious, his Elvish friends. They could have had second breakfast and still been on time.

"Do you want to run the ponies around a bit, Bilbo?" Tauriel asked as she wandered over, running a soothing hand down Minty's neck. "I do believe they won't have a chance like this for a while, and the plain here isn't too rough. The closer we get to the mountain, the more rocky it will become."

Bilbo was nodding even before she finished her sentence. "Yes, I do believe that's a good idea." He said, dropping from Myrtle's back. "Would you mind helping me untie their packs? I'll give them a quick brush down, too."

Tauriel set to unloading Minty's packs, as Bilbo did the same for Maisy. He left them in neat piles along with the pony's saddles, before remounting Myrtle without the leather seating in place. The sweet thing didn't mind - his grip was gentle on her mane, his legs and knees too short to even hint at pain when he tightened them over her back.

"We'll watch over you." Tauriel pet his knee reassuringly. "Can't have the King's prized pony carer running off, can we?"

"You tease too much." He grinned at her. "I wouldn't dare risk the wrath of my King, he's much too tall for me to take on!"

Tauriel laughed. "Off you go, then. We'll call you when the Dwarves show themselves."

Bilbo didn't need to be told twice. Gently, he prodded Myrtle into moving, and signalled the other two ponies to follow. He'd trained ponies for years under Thranduil's orders, teaching them a series of voice commands, hand signals and clicks that they responded remarkably well to. The ponies could tell when they were being let free for a stretch, and followed eagerly.

They were rather beautiful creatures, Bilbo thought, as Myrtle picked up speed. Myrtle was a wonderfully vibrant chestnut colour, with a white strip up her nose. Minty was lighter, more beige, with white socks on her legs, as Bilbo liked to call them. Maisy was probably the prettiest of them all - white, with soft-edged stains of black, and a particularly pretty circle of black around one eye and on one matching ear. Her mane was the softest. 

The breeze was gentle, and toyed with their manes rather prettily. For a moment, Bilbo closed his eyes to the coolness of the wind, feeling at ease and relaxed. Myrtle tossed her head and let out a pleased whinny, skipping across the thin grass. Bilbo opened his eyes, and watched, vigil, as Maisy and Minty took an alternate path in their trot. He gently steered Myrtle after them, intent on keeping a loose eye on the two ponies. 

It was peaceful to ride like this, without all the saddles and packs weighing them down. Bilbo felt more connected to the ponies like this than he had in a while. It was truly quite comforting.

 

Bilbo was still with the ponies when the Dwarves arrived riding ponies and rams of their own.

In fact, Myrtle reared up and whinnied quite loudly at the ponies that approached them - she hadn't noticed them, and Bilbo flailed for a moment, gripping her mane a tad too tightly.

"Calm, _mellon."_ He murmured, leaning forwards to stroke her neck as she darted backwards. He glanced at the Dwarves, and startled to find that quite a few were staring at him oddly. He supposed they'd never come across a Hobbit. 

"You are with the Elves." The leader of the Dwarves murmured, watching him curiously.

Bilbo grinned despite himself. "I am. This way, then." He spurred Myrtle onwards, and she bolted forwards, startling the Dwarves. Bilbo laughed quietly, his voice lost to the wind, and led Myrtle back to his friends. Maybe he was showing off, but Myrtle was just so beautiful, and all on show without her saddle. 

Tauriel had already lured Minty and Maisy back to the group, and had both saddled, when Bilbo led the Dwarves over. Legolas began the necessary niceties as Bilbo dismounted and began preparing Myrtle to travel to the gates of Erebor. 

He glanced up upon feeling eyes on him, and caught the gaze of the Dwarven leader again. The Dwarf looked rather affronted at being caught, but Bilbo just grinned, cheeks still flushed from riding the pony across the plain.

 

"You seem rather smiley today." Galion observed as they were led through the halls of Erebor. 

Bilbo probably had a permanent look of awe on his face, wide eyed and slack jawed, but he just couldn't help it. The halls were _wonderful,_ more than he could have ever dreamt of.

"I do?" Bilbo answered airily. 

"Yes, you do." Galion said, pinching Bilbo's cheek teasingly. "It wouldn't have to do with the Dwarves, would it? Because my all-seeing eyes have seen quite a bit of fawning done today."

Bilbo flushed horribly, and scowled up at the tall Elf. "I've done no such thing."

"I didn't say it was you who had done the fawning, now did I?"

Bilbo hoped his expression didn't go all awe-stuck and gooey, but he didn't have much control over it, he tells himself. "Really?"

Galion rolled his eyes, placing a friendly hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "You, my friend, have a lot of work cut out for you if you wish to go barking up that particular tree."

Bilbo gave him a puzzled frown.

"That Dwarf you have taken an interest in - don't deny it, my dear, it's as obvious as daylight - happens to be _Thorin Oakenshield,_ Prince of Erebor."

Bilbo's eyes widened. "Oh."

Galion hummed. "Well, I wouldn't worry too much. He seems rather taken with you, too. I was watching, you know, when Myrtle first ran into their company. He looked rather infatuated at your presence atop your pony. I can hardly say I blame him."

Now it was Bilbo's turn to roll his eyes. "You're a sweet-talker, Galion, but I can see through your jests."

"I jest not." Galion chuckled. "You wear a beautiful circlet, and are dressed in the finest clothes. You ride a beautiful pony, whose mane is long and straight. And you're quite beautiful, the perfect size for a Dwarf."

Bilbo huffed, elbowing the Elf for the height remark. It was a constant running joke amongst their two races - friendly, and never taken too far, but constant.

"You're quite the catch, my friend." Galion summed up. He looked rather proud of himself. "And anyone should know they are lucky to have your attentions."

"I hardly think I'm worthy of a prince."

"Are you not a prince yourself?"

Bilbo shook his head. "Distantly, perhaps, if I still lived in the Shire and was governed by a Thain. Now... now I am not much more than a pony trainer, it seems."

Galion sighed. "To think, a dear friend of mine is so grievously insulted by himself. How am I meant to defend his honour?"

Bilbo snorted. "Spare me the dramatics, Galion. You're far too well versed in them."

Galion simply smiled. "In any case, if I were you, I'd keep my fawning out of the eyes of a certain blonde Prince of ours. He's rather protective of his father's favourite pony trainer, you know."

Bilbo just groaned.

 

Delegations started out smoothly, Bilbo heard. He wasn't much involved in the politics of it all - in essence, he was the pack horse, there to care for their animals and ensure the wellbeing of the ponies in particular.

And while Myrtle, Minty and Maisy were not entirely fond of the rocky terrain, they certainly did love the food the Dwarves had to offer. Their crops were hardier than those of the Elves, and while finding apples and other greeneries was difficult, the hay was plenty and the stables were surprisingly warm.

It took Bilbo quite some time to find the stables when he first went looking for them, if he were being entirely honest. He'd been left to his devices after the first night they spent in Erebor - Tauriel and several other Elves along with Legolas were attending meetings with the King, while Galion and the remaining Elves that had accompanied them were off doing something else of great important, Bilbo was sure.

He just wanted to check on the ponies.

The halls of Erebor were great and winding. Bilbo had never walked down so many stairs in all his life, and yet he still struggled to find a doorway or any sign of the stables. In fact, he was getting rather frustrated with it all.

Frustrated enough to trip down the stairs, it seemed.

A shocked cry left his lips as he pitched forwards. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting pain, but instead wide hands gripped under his arms and hauled him upright. Bilbo squealed as he was pulled flush against a sturdy and solid body. He tilted his head back, eyes wide, and was met with the flushed face of one Thorin Oakenshield.

"Ah..." Thorin released him when he realised his hands where still clutching Bilbo tightly. 

Bilbo just smiled at him, wide and flustered. "Thank you."

"It's not a problem." Thorin murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

He had quite a youthful face, Bilbo thought. A strong nose, something to certainly grow into, and thick hair pulled into a loose but very attractive ponytail. Bilbo could see glistening clasps holding braids weaved into the mix of dark locks. His eyes were a deep blue, deeper than Bilbo thought he had ever seen. He was painfully handsome. 

Bilbo startled, again, when he realised he hadn't even introduced himself to the handsome Dwarf yet. A little shyly, he held out his hand. "My name is Bilbo Baggins." He said. "It's nice to make your acquaintance."

"Thorin Oakenshield." The Dwarf answered, reaching out to grip Bilbo's hand. "Likewise."

Bilbo stared down widely at their joined hands. Thorin's was so much bigger than his - tanned, and calloused from hard labour and extensive training. One of his fingers was easily as big as at least two of Bilbo's. His grip was strong and warm, somehow gentle, even with the knowledge that those hands were so much stronger than the Hobbit's own.

Thorin seemed just as enraptured - in fact, it took both of them a moment to draw their hands back, flushing. 

"You wouldn't happen to be able to point me in the direction of the stables, would you?" Bilbo asked. "I think I've gotten myself rather lost."

Thorin offered him a reassuring smile. "Yes. I'll accompany you, if you're amenable."

"Sure." Bilbo grinned. 

"Do you care for the ponies?" Thorin asked, as he lead Bilbo in what he guessed was the right direction. "They seem rather taken with you."

Bilbo laughed. "Yes, they are in my charge." He said proudly. "King Thranduil assigned them to me specifically. I'm rather taken with them, I must admit. I enjoy caring for them."

Thorin smiled a little. "They're quite beautiful."

"Thank you." Bilbo's heart fluttered a little. Any compliment on his ponies always had him grinning. "Ah, should you not be in a meeting, or something? I hate to think I'm wasting your time..."

Thorin shook his head. "It's quite alright." He said. "My father is handling all negotiations with the Elves, and my younger brother is with your other companions. I'm not particularly needed, it seems."

"You can show me around, then!" Bilbo decided. "If you wouldn't mind, I would love to see more of your mountain. It's so wonderful, I've never seen anything quite so magnificent."

"I don't mind at all." Thorin smiled. He looked quite pleased with himself as they neared the stables - Bilbo could smell the hay, and hear the faint sound of hooves. "You'll have to show me your ponies in return."

"Deal!" Bilbo laughed. Almost instinctively, he reached out to grip Thorin's hand in both his own, pulling him along faster to the stables. It took him a moment to realise his actions, and he hastily dropped Thorin's hand, frowning.

But Thorin offered his hand out again, smiling tentatively.

Bilbo returned the bashful smile, gripping Thorin's hand again as he moved towards the stables.

Maybe there was a little fawning going on, he supposed. Just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might do a second part to this? It was getting a bit too long for me to handle tonight, but I had more in mind for this~ ^^


	21. Princely Pt.II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas is protective, but Bilbo manages to spend time with Thorin regardless.

Bilbo hummed to himself, a tune taught to him by the Elves, as he brushed out Myrtle's mane. He carefully untangled knots and snares given by the wind, and by the way she tossed her head. 

Once that was done, he set to weaving in decorative braids. Between the twists of hair he wove in wild flowers he'd found on the curve of the mountain the previous afternoon. They'd been in Erebor for what would be two days by the time the sun came up, but Bilbo found he still struggled to fall asleep. The deep halls of the mountain were not quite what he was used to, after all.

Still, he spent his restless hours productively, caring for and grooming his ponies. He took great pride in their perfect appearance, and enjoyed caring for them. It was his job, after all.

He hadn't expected anyone to join him, however.

"Master Baggins, you're certainly up late."

Bilbo startled at the voice, and hurriedly murmured something soft and comforting in Elvish to Myrtle to still her antsy hooves. "I couldn't sleep." He told the Prince, offering a hesitant smile. "I came here instead."

"I'm glad to see you did not lose your way again." Thorin said, stepping down into the stables to offer a hand to Myrtle's curious nose. "You're braiding her mane."

Bilbo smiled a little wider. "I am." He replied, turning back to weave a violet coloured flower into the fine hair. "It's quite therapeutic, and keeps it from tangling too awfully."

Thorin hummed, surveying Bilbo's work. "Why can you not sleep?"

"I'm unused to the mountain." Bilbo answered. "Its noises, its temperature, the way the corridors grow dark... I suppose I'm used to the comforts of my home."

"Understandable." He said. "Are our homes so different?"

"Well, we don't live in a mountain, for one." Bilbo laughed quietly. "But it's more of the idea of familiarity? I'm used to the wilderness, the trees of the Greenwood, the gentle music of Elves who spend nights singing under the stars and dancing... it's quite comforting."

"Sounds very... Elvish."

Bilbo laughed again. Thorin had developed a cute little crinkle between his brows. "Elves and Dwarves don't quite get along, do they?" He said. "It's quite a rivalry your race has, you know."

Thorin crackled a small smile. "And you?" The Dwarf asked. "What are you?"

Bilbo blinked, puzzled for a moment before realisation struck him. "Why, I'm a Hobbit."

"A Hobbit?"

"A Halfling." Bilbo said. "As some have come to call us."

"Why do you live with the Elves?"

"Because no one else would take us in." Bilbo answered, turning back to brush Myrtle's mane, so that he would have somewhere else to direct his eyes. 

"What happened...?" Thorin asked. "Ah, if you do not mind me asking..."

Bilbo cleared his throat. "It's fine." He said. "I used to live in the Shire, in Hobbiton."

"I've never heard of it." Thorin admitted regretfully.

"It's alright, I hardly expect you to have." Bilbo replied. "Hardly any have heard of the Shire, or of Hobbits. We're not particularly remarkable - no magic or immortality like Elves, no halls of gold and forges of the highest quality like Dwarves. Not even the population or building expertise of the Men."

"What do you have?"

"We had..." Bilbo smiled ruefully, trying to recall the memory. It was harder than he would have liked. "We had gardens, wonderful gardens and rolling hills of green. We had big families, and seven meals a day, and waistcoats! And houses set beneath hills, in smials, with winding hallways and circle doors..."

Thorin was silent, but he'd picked up a brush and was gently stroking Myrtle's flank. She rather seemed to enjoy the attention.

"When I was a child, it grew very cold." Bilbo said, stilling his hands absently. "We call it the Fell Winter - those participating in the war attacked the Shire, like an afterthought as though they were bored. Wolves and Orcs destroyed everything, everyone... those who did not die in the initial attacks starved to death, or froze. Rangers did all they could to help us, but when it became clear that there was nothing to be done and the ground had been destroyed by permafrost, they moved us to Elven citadels."

"I'm sorry."

"You've nothing to apologise for." Bilbo answered, forcing a smile as he picked up his braiding again. "The Hobbits of the Shire that were without family or without any other means of living were taken in by Elves. We are quite far in their debt, but they do not expect us to pay them back at all - in fact, they're quite adverse to the idea. I know I'll certainly never be able to thank them enough for caring for me."

"Then your parents..."

"Yes, they died." Bilbo said. "But the pain of their passing has long since been numbed by time. Now, I spend my time helping with the agricultural department and caring for the ponies."

"Your ponies are quite beautiful." Thorin observed. "More so than the ones we have."

Bilbo flushed a little. "Thank you."

Thorin opened his mouth to say something else, but the sound of soft footfalls stopped him.

Bilbo was startled to find none other than Legolas standing in the doorway. The Elf's eyes were bright blue and searching, and narrowed at the sight of the Dwarf. Fortunately Legolas wasn't the type to provoke, and instead settled his gaze on Bilbo.

 _"Bilbo, you should return to our quarters."_ Legolas murmured in Elvish. 

_"I couldn't sleep."_ Bilbo said, frowning a little. _"I thought I'd spent time with Myrtle..."_

 _"I will stay with you."_ He said. "Come, _mellon._ We have a long day ahead of us."

Bilbo found that he couldn't really deny the Elf - as demanding as he was, he was still one of Bilbo's closest friends, and his Prince no less. Bilbo knew that Legolas wasn't as wise in the ways of the world as his father, not just yet - he still sometimes acted childish, and jealous, but in a way that was utterly dignified and hard to dispute. Bilbo didn't mind bending to his whims, for now.

"It seems it's my bedtime." Bilbo smiled at Thorin sheepishly. "Thank you for keeping me company."

"It's quite alright." Thorin offered his hand, eyes firmly fixed on Bilbo's face.

Bilbo gladly shook hands with the Dwarf, flushed at the feel of Thorin's palm against his own. He couldn't quite get over the feeling of it all, it was quite surreal. Thorin was rather handsome, after all, and a _Dwarf!_ Quite exciting, wasn't it? Like an adventure, all of his own.

 _"Come."_ Legolas murmured, before turning away.

"I'll talk to you later." Bilbo quickly said to Thorin, eyes hopeful.

The Dwarf just nodded, and although Bilbo felt awful, he hurried after his Elvish friend. Legolas was considerate of his shorter stature, and was slow paced as Bilbo hurried to his side.

"Are you alright?" Legolas asked.

Bilbo stared up at him. "Perfectly fine." He said. "Why?"

Legolas didn't answer, but his silence made Bilbo sigh.

"Thorin is rather nice, you know." He said. 

"You're interested in him." Legolas murmured. "You know that is not for the best..."

Bilbo shrugged, muffling a yawn. "He's handsome." Bilbo said defensively. "I think... I think he likes me too? I cannot see why- but Galion- Galion said he might."

"You know Galion spins tales and jests freely." Legolas told him as they arrived at their rooms. He directed Bilbo into bed, where after changing behind the privacy of a decorated folding screen Bilbo clambered under the heavy sheets. "We are only here for a week, _mellon."_

"Don't get me wrong, Legolas." Bilbo sighed as he rested against the pillows. "I know where my loyalties lay. There is not a person on this earth who could lure me away from my King, or you, my Prince."

"And yet you hunger for his attention." Legolas said quietly. "The Dwarven Prince."

"Is it so wrong?"

Legolas pulled a chair close to the bed, and rested his hand above Bilbo's. "It is not wrong, but untimely. Perhaps misplaced. I do not see how a merging of our species could produce a courtship deserving of you."

Bilbo hummed. "There are only so many Hobbits in this world." He said. "Not even a hundred in Greenwood. I never thought of myself entering a relationship, but..." He glanced away, flushed. "I find I rather enjoy the sense of adventure."

Legolas leaned back, drawing his hand away. It wasn't a cold gesture. "Either way, I would advise you to avoid any further contact with the Dwarves. That is not your purpose here."

"If... if it is what you wish-"

"I only wish you the greatest happiness." Legolas said. "But I do not believe that it lies in the cold and crowded halls of a mountain."

 

Frustratingly, Legolas somehow managed to keep Bilbo occupied for almost the entire remainder of their stay in Erebor. Some days it was Galion towing him along to meetings, and other times Tauriel was roped in to keep him occupied with training or to take out the ponies for a run.

It was the last day in Erebor, the day before they left, when Bilbo found himself with some free time. It had just gone lunchtime, but he found his ache to relax in the sun more powerful than his one to find food.

That in mind, he made his way out onto the slopes of the mountain, to where the trees crept up the side and offered him a shady reprieve from the stone halls he had become accustomed to. 

He was sitting under the shade of a particularly magnificent Oak tree when a small company of Dwarves rode past on rams.

"Master Baggins?"

Bilbo glanced up at the sound of his name. "Thorin! Ah- I mean, Prince Oakenshield."

"Just Thorin is alright." The Dwarf said, dismounting. Briefly, he turned to his companions and spoke something in Khuzdul. The Dwarves continued on their way, taking Thorin's steed with them. "What is it to have drawn you from your companions?"

"Free time!" Bilbo laughed, leaning back against the grass. "It's a nice day today, is it not?"

"It is." Thorin agreed, nodding as he took a seat beside Bilbo.

"And you? What brings you out today?"

"Nothing interesting." Thorin answers. "Border patrol."

Bilbo made an inquisitive noise. "How are the delegations going? It bores Galion too much to explain it to me." He chuckled.

"Well, I believe." Thorin said. "As well as it can go between Dwarves and Elves."

Bilbo sighed, flopping back against the soft grass. "Of course. The stubbornness of it all astounds me."

Thorin watched him thoughtfully. "And yet you seem quite carefree."

"What can I say? All I care for is ponies." He teased. "Ponies and food."

"Such simple wants for such an important Hobbit." 

"Oh, I'm hardly that important." Bilbo waved a hand, turning on his side to comfortably face Thorin. "Not as important as a Prince."

Thorin's lips quirked. He hesitantly laid down beside Bilbo. "Important enough to be brought to Erebor all the way from the Greenwood."

"I suppose you have me there." Bilbo laughed. "Do you not have something important to attend to, O Great Prince of Erebor? Surely you can't spend your time with a Halfling."

Thorin groaned. "Just Thorin." He reminded Bilbo. "And I do believe this is... fostering relations." He said. "So it's important."

"Cheeky!" Bilbo accused, but he was grinning. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Thorin just smiled.

 

The time he spent with Thorin was surprisingly uplifting. He learned many new things about the Dwarf - his ears, for example, were pierced with jewellery crafted by his own hand, and the braids in his hair were symbolic of his position as Prince. 

He was very interesting to listen to, if Bilbo could goad him into talking. He was sure he laid there with a constantly red-cheeked, awed look on his face, no matter how many times he schooled his expression to be something more presentable. He couldn't help it, he just found Thorin Oakenshield so _fascinating._

Of course his disappearance was noticed by his Elves. Nothing got by them - they were far too clever for that.

Still, Bilbo was a little relieved that it was Galion who was sent to collect him. That Elf in particular wasn't as brash towards the Dwarves, and although he acted more teasingly he was always respective and generally polite.

Of course, he couldn't help teasing Bilbo when he found the Hobbit together with the Dwarf in a rather friendly situation - all in Elvish, mind, so Thorin had no clue what he was saying, but Bilbo ended up extremely flustered anyway. 

Dinner was spent fending off Galion's jests, while for the night he returned to Legolas's company. The Elf didn't further their previous conversation, instead wishing him pleasant dreams before settling in to rest himself. They would leave tomorrow, it seemed.

Bilbo tried not to feel disappointed. 

 

Myrtle was all ready to go, kicking at the ground impatiently as the Elves mounted their horses. Bilbo was puttering about for as long as he could, wishing he had the courage to farewell Thorin personally.

Luckily for him, it seemed Thorin had the same thing in mind as well.

Thorin offered his hand as he approached. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Master Baggins." He said. "You're welcome to visit Erebor any time you wish."

Bilbo's eyes widened hopefully as he willingly slipped his hand into Thorin's. "Thank you for having us." He replied, smiling shyly. "I hope to see you again."

"As do I." Thorin answered. 

Bilbo hesitated for a moment, biting his lip, but in the spur of the moment he quickly darted forwards to hug Thorin. The Dwarf, although surprised, was quick to return the gesture. It was swift, but oddly fulfilling. 

Bilbo grinned as he mounted Myrtle with a surprising amount of grace. "Farewell, Prince Oakenshield."

"Just Thorin is fine..." Thorin murmured uselessly as Myrtle took off after the other horses.

The wind was refreshing on Bilbo's face, and although he was sorely tempted to glance back he refrained from doing so. 

_"Do you wish to ride ahead with me?"_ Legolas asked, glancing down at Bilbo. The Hobbit didn't think Legolas was offering him a choice, but he wasn't offended by the notion. Legolas was just protective of him, is all. It wasn't anything new, and if it gave him the chance to show off Myrtle... Well.

 _"Tauriel, can you watch after the ponies?"_ Bilbo asked over his shoulder. 

The Silvan Elf nodded her head. 

Legolas urged his horse faster, and the stallion instantly took off across the plain. Bilbo grinned at the little challenge, and spurred on Myrtle. Ponies were no challenge to a horse such as Legolas's, couldn't even possibly be an equal match, but the Elf was being playful, taunting Bilbo. It was familiar and comforting and childish, and Bilbo loved it. This side of Legolas didn't often show itself.

Bilbo laughed into the wind, tilting his face up. His curls would surely be tangled, his cheeks flushed from exhilaration, but it was exciting. Myrtle was brilliant, easily keeping pace with Legolas's horse, tossing her head and whinnying joyfully. 

_"You still admire the Dwarf."_ Legolas said.

 _"I do."_ Bilbo agreed. "I still meant what I said before, Legolas, but..."

"I understand." Legolas said. 

Bilbo wasn't sure if he quite did, but he filed away the thought for later considerations. That Legolas was even trying was good enough for him. 

 

Although he was glad to be home, he found he rather missed Erebor. Hamfast was curious about his stories, as were the other Hobbits, but Bilbo tired of the story after the first dozen times he told it.

He spent much of his free time with the ponies, thinking of ways to visit Erebor again. He wouldn't have said he was sad, but he did miss Thorin. He had been given only a taste of something quite delicious. It wasn't enough. 

One day, the fields where the ponies remained were visited by the Great King himself.

"King Thranduil." Bilbo scrambled to attention from his seat on the grass. He hurriedly brushed the pony fur off his trousers, mourning the fact that he was hardly presentable. "Is there something I may help you with?"

"I have been sent many admirations for my ponies from the Dwarves." Thranduil murmured, eyeing him curiously. "They seemed rather impressed by your creatures."

Bilbo flushed, pleased. "I'm glad."

"I've heard many other tales, too." Thranduil said. "Do you care to hear them?"

Bilbo flushed even darker, sinking into his shoulders. "Ah..."

Thranduil chuckled. He wasn't often this... _soft_ around his subjects, but despite his colder appearance he cared for everyone in his kingdom whether they believed it or not. "It seems as though my son thinks you've charmed the Dwarven Prince."

Bilbo cringed. "I assure you, my King, that my allegiances lie only with you-"

"I have no doubt." Thranduil assured him. "And yet, you appear quite... _charmed_ as well."

"I... I'm sorry."

"It is nothing to apologise to me for. The Dwarves have suggested our trade be expanded to include animals, as well."

Bilbo's eyes widen.

Thranduil watched him carefully. "Is that something you wish for?"

Bilbo knew Thranduil wasn't asking about the trade. He glanced away indecisively. "I... I'd like to try, if at all possible. I don't want to leave my home, but..." He thought of Thorin's charming little smile, the one that only appeared when he thought it wouldn't be noticed, and couldn't help but smile himself.

"I'll see what can be arranged."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still didn't manage to fit all my ideas into this, and I have more in mind, but it was getting far too long for me to edit ^^" I only made it just in time today, ahhh ^^"


	22. Clouds Clear Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is tired. Thorin comforts him.

It was late by the time Bilbo finally arrived home. He was yawning, half-heartedly undoing his waistcoat and removing the circlet settled in his hair - he didn't enjoy wearing it, but it was better than the heavier crown Thorin had suggested. If he were being honest, the circlets had grown on him, even if they sometimes left him with marks on his forehead. 

Thorin was already laying in their expansive bed when he arrived back, eyes glancing over some last-minute paperwork.

"Hello, Thorin." Bilbo said around a yawn, wandering over to tuck himself into the arm Thorin extended. 

"You're home late." Thorin murmured, kissing his forehead once. "Have a quick bath and join me."

Bilbo hummed, and dutifully followed orders. He soaked in their lovely, warm bathtub for a little longer than he usually would have, and carefully dried off his curls so that they would not wet the pillows when he laid down.

"You're very tired today." Thorin said as he set aside the paperwork. "Were there problems in the fields?"

"The weather isn't the best for growing of late." Bilbo answered, crawling under the sheets to cuddle furiously against Thorin's warm waist. "I hope the clouds clear up soon, or else my crops will die. This weather is awful."

Thorin wrapped Bilbo up in his arms after gently adjusting their quilts and furs. "I'm sure it will." Thorin said. "Is there not much you can do?"

Bilbo shook his head. "Nothing more than watering them and caring for the soil." Bilbo told him. "The irrigation system has been started up now, so the soil is absolutely perfect for growing. The land here is surprisingly fertile, considering all the rock and frost that comes in winter."

Thorin nodded. "Rest now, then, âmralimê. I hate to think you're losing sleep over this."

"I'll be fine." Bilbo waved a hand dismissively, despite the yawn that broke his bravado. "It's always nice to come back to this, though."

"I'm glad." Thorin murmured, rubbing Bilbo's back with a large, warm hand. The motions were very soothing, and lulled Bilbo closer to sleep with every stroke. "Sleep now. I love you."

"I love you too." Bilbo whispered, even as he drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was almost 2,000 words into the third part for _Princely_ when I realised there was no conceivable way to finish it, edit it and post it before midnight. I really want to fit in all the ideas still running about my head, so I might post it as a separate story (with all parts placed together) if anyone is interested?
> 
> I was out shopping tonight, so I got home later than expected unfortunately. The good news is that my formal dress arrived, so that stress is finally gone~ ^^


	23. Misconceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ages at which Dwarves and Hobbits come of age are quite different.

Bilbo remembers when he first came of age. The party was wonderful - the best ale, the best food and marvellous fireworks were let off by the great wandering Wizard, Gandalf. He'd even danced with quite a few pretty Hobbits, dressed in his finest clothing and all the ribbons Bell Gamgee could possibly fit into his hair.

A Hobbit only turned thirty-three once, after all. 

The coming of age for Hobbits was a simple transition, he thought. It afforded them an air of adulthood, a respectable marriage, a lovely home with a pretty garden. Despite the connotation of adulthood, it was much like any other birthday (if maybe a little more extravagant on the party side). 

Bilbo was starting to think it meant something entirely different to Dwarves.

At first, he didn't notice the age difference their two races experienced. Bilbo felt mature in their presence, like he was from the same age demographic, even if he felt old around Kili and Fili. 

It was only after Carrock that the Dwarves truly started opening up to him. It seemed as though the tension between Thorin and Bilbo had completely disappeared, and consequently conversation started to flow much smoother. Bilbo was rather curious about the Dwarves as a culture, so he wasn't adverse to the newfound communication. 

"Oh, why I know a lass who had four babes a once!" Bilbo said, much to the shock of the Dwarves listening to him. "It's quite common to have large broods - my mother was one of twelve, my father one of five. In fact, having only one child as my parents did was quite uncommon."

"I've got no mind to comprehend that." Balin shook his head, leaning back to puff on his pipe. "Twelve children? Astounding."

"Is it not the same for Dwarves?"

"Quite different." Gloin answered. "Our Dwarrowdams struggle to conceive at all, let alone give birth. My wife was closest to Mahal when she birthed our little Gimli."

"Mother was weak after my birth, too." Kili supplied. "I was an unexpected child."

"That you were." Thorin agreed, despite Kili's huff. "But no less cherished."

"I didn't know that." Bilbo said. "Hobbits have children so easily... Yavanna is always very generous. I suppose Dwarves must treasure children, then?"

"Quite." Balin agrees. "I have to admit we are quite protective of our young... they scarcely leave our mountains until they come of age."

"Oh? And when age is that?"

"Seventy-five."

Bilbo's eyes widened. "So your children do not come of age until they are seventy-five?"

"That's correct."

Bilbo eyed Kili and Fili warily. They didn't appear that old at all, and neither did Ori for that matter. Seventy-five was quite a bit older than he was, after all! He hadn't thought those three in particular to be older than him, let alone the whole company. Realistically, he knew many of them had to be, especially after the tales he'd heard, but all of them? That was certainly a bit of a shock. 

"They're both of age." Thorin rumbled from across the camp. His eyes were watching Bilbo's face. "Otherwise neither their mother nor I would have let them come on this journey."

Bilbo hummed. "Exactly how old are you two? If you do not mind me asking." 

"Fili is eighty-three." Thorin supplied, before the two could possibly trick Bilbo in their own mischievous ways. "Kili is seventy-seven."

Bilbo took in that information, before he nodded. "Quite a bit older than me, than. I didn't expect that, if I'm being honest."

Thorin looked at him suspiciously. "How old are you then, Mr Baggins?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fifty." 

Thorin's expression turned rather startled at that, so much so that Bilbo got a little worried he'd said something wrong.

"Pardon me," Bofur started, "But did you say yer only fifty, Bilbo?"

"Well, yes-"

"By my beard, we've enlisted the help of a juvenile!" Balin exclaimed. 

"Juvenile-!"

"To slay a dragon, no less!" Bofur said. 

"Now really-"

"Mr Baggins, we must apologise profusely." Balin said. "Had we known of your age beforehand-"

"It's really not a problem." Bilbo told him, brows furrowed. He didn't see what the fuss was about - it wasn't as though he was underage, not by Hobbit standards. By Dwarven standards he supposed he was, but their lifespans were quite different anyhow. Was his age really that much of a problem?

 

It was. It definitely was. The Dwarves were quite studious around him after his age was revealed - he hardly noticed at first, but then it became quite evident.

They were _protective._ Fiercely so. 

And while he was lenient in their tendencies, it did get a bit much when Thorin, of all the dwarves, got in on it too. Bilbo was constantly given quite a healthy proportion of food, and would often return to the camp after doing some menial task to find his bedroll already set up and ready. He was no longer left at the back of the company when riding a pony o walkig, and didn't have long watch shifts, if any at all. 

It was much too odd for him. He was no longer a child, after all, and this coddling felt quite strange.

When the Dwarves found out he lived alone, it only got worse.

Still, if there was one good thing to come from it all, it was Thorin's increased attentions. Bilbo would be lying if he said that he didn't enjoy spending time with the Dwarven leader, especially after the incident on Carrock. Bilbo found Thorin to be quite attractive, too. Having Thorin treat him as a child simply would not do.

He'd hoped he'd proved himself after the Mirkwood incident. He had played a pivotal part in helping the Dwarves escape, he thought. How could he not be treated as an adult after that?

He was very wrong. Wet and shivering on the banks of the river with a splinter possibly imbedded in his finger from those barrels, Thorin had immediately set to coddling. His wet jacket was pulled from his shoulders and he was hurried to take a seat on the rocks all before he really realised what was happening. In fact, Thorin appeared quite oblivious to his actions, as well! 

"Thorin, stop that." Bilbo huffed, waving away his hands. "I'm not a child."

Thorin stilled, and carefully took a seat beside Bilbo.

"Hobbits come of age much earlier than Dwarves." Bilbo said gently, wringing out his jacket. "Our lifespans are much different - I've been of age for quite some time now. We come of age when we turn thirty-three, so this mothering is quite unnecessary." 

Thorin just stared. "I did not realise."

"It's quite alright." Bilbo said dismissively. "I just did not want to have you viewing me as a child when- ah." He flushed horribly, right up to the tips of his ears.

Thorin quirked a brow, looking somewhat amused. "When?" He prompted.

Bilbo sighed. He'd well and truly dug his grave now, so why not keeping digging and hope to strike gold? "When I have developed... certain _affections."_

"For me?"

"Who else for?" Bilbo snapped, not coldly but rather in embarrassment as his eyes turned up to meet Thorin's own gaze.

"Then I must apologise." Thorin said. "For I felt guilty for harbouring similar _affections_ when I believed you to be underage."

Bilbo stared, eyes hopeful, before laughing tiredly. "We're both fools."

"Yes, I believe so." Thorin agreed. He was smiling, just a little. It made Bilbo feel victorious.

"You really must do something to stop the others from mothering me, though." Bilbo said. "We are likely quite similar in age, and even your nephews have started to do it despite being younger than me - comparably."

Thorin chuckled, and gently pet one of Bilbo's hands. "I'll see what I can do."

Bilbo smiled bashfully. "Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by ARKangel1496
> 
> This didn't turn out how I wanted it to, so I'm kind of disappointed~ I really like this idea too, hmm ^~^ I hope you like it regardless!


	24. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Are you still awake?"_  
>  _"I am. Are you alright?"_  
>  The reply was hesitant, only beeping through after a moment of darkened silence. _"No."_

_"Are you still awake?"_

_"I am. Are you alright?"_

The reply was hesitant, only beeping through after a moment of darkened silence. _"No."_

_"Want to talk about it?"_

_"Why are you still awake? Won't you get in trouble?"_

_"Not if I don't get caught."_ When there was no reply, he tried again. _"Tell me what's wrong."_

_"I'm tired."_

_"Of?"_

_"Everything."_

Before he could write his reply, the phone beeped once more.

_"Forget about it."_

_"Want me to come over?"_

_"Not, you'll get in trouble. You'll be grounded again."_

He didn't reply.

_"You're parents don't trust me, don't come out this late."_

He kept his phone alight, watching the messages trickle in.

_"It's dark outside."_

_"I'm serious, it's fine. I'm just being whiny."_

_"Don't listen to me. It's really nothing."_

_"You there?"_

He blinked down at the screen. _"Of course."_

_"You're already halfway out the front door, aren't you?"_

_"Naturally."_

The air was chilly and frigid against his skin. He pressed his nose insistently further in his scarf, feeling his cheeks go red with cold. Faintly, the beginnings of frost on the grass crunched under his feet.

_"Go back inside. It's too cold for you to be out."_

_"I'm at the end of your street. Make sure to answer the door for me."_

_"Go home!"_

_"You'll have to say something better than that to convince me."_

_"Please..."_

He stared down at the screen for a moment. From here, he could see the house - there were no lights on, no cars sitting stationary in the driveway. His breath fogged the screen. He wiped it clean absently.

 _"Come outside."_ He sent. With that, he shoved his phone along with both his hands in his pockets and waited, half-heartedly eyeing the empty mail-box where weeds sprouted from its base.

The door clicked open and closed. A dark figure hunched under the weight of warm jackets and a thick scarf wandered out, looking lost and tired.

He welcomed the figure into his arms as soon as he could. He had to stand right on his toes, and his partner was hunched over, his shoulders a prominent feature of his silhouette. The crinkle of fabric as their winter jackets rubbed together was surprisingly loud in the stagnant night air. 

Small sounds of sorrow where muffled into his hair, but he didn't comment on them. Instead, he just held on tighter, fingers fisted in the thick jacket as far around as he could reach. 

Distantly, a car rumbled down a close street. He wondered if it would turn down this way, bath them in a wedge of fleeting light that would cast long shadows on the face of the empty, daunting house in front of them. 

It didn't.

He eventually pulled back when his toes started to hurt. To compensate, he offered a small smile, and lifted his hand to touch a scraggly, wet cheek. He would spend all night drying those tears, soothing wounds he couldn't see. And in the morning, he'd make breakfast and convince his partner to shave and lie to his parents about where he was all night and hope that one day they'd understand. 

For now, he pleaded for his smile and a soft _"hello"_ to be enough.


	25. Lethargy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He dwelled on Gandalf's letter for a week before opening it. His curiosity got the better of him, he told himself. He thought he would have opened it sooner if he had the energy to, but he ended up sleeping for three days and lethargically sulking for another four after Gandalf came and went. 
> 
> The letter contained directions to Erebor, and instructions on who to contact. A man named Thorin Oakenshield ran a flock there, it seemed. Apparently Gandalf though he could help Bilbo. The hummingbird didn't see how, when not even those from the Mirkwood and Rivendell hospitals knew what his mystery illness was.
> 
> Still, he packed up his things and began the journey to Erebor regardless.

Bilbo sighed as he stepped down from the doctor's centre. Absently, he fluttered his wings to accustom them to the frigid temperature of the outside air, and began his trek home.

As a hummingbird sub-species, his body was subject to periods of torpor. Essentially, torpor is a state of decreased physiological activity, where his body temperature and metabolic rate are significantly reduced. It's similar to hibernation, but it's timespan is much more erratic. It can last from hours to weeks.

It's meant to be a bodily function that aids in conserving energy. Hummingbirds like him generally go through life without any significant problems so long as they maintained a healthy diet and a slightly higher than average body temperature. For some reason, however, he was having problems with his torpor states. 

And of course no doctor he'd seen could solve it.

Returning home after each fruitless appointment was disappointing. He had no family to greet him when he walked through the front door, no mate or chicks or even a pet fish. Just a cold empty house and a growing pile of medical bills. 

 

He was reorganising his bedroom - his nest, as it was more commonly called - when a certain meddling owl came for an unexpected visit. Really, Bilbo hadn't even noticed the kooky old man until he'd turned around and seen him making himself comfortable in Bilbo's kitchen.

Gandalf was just like that. There wasn't much Bilbo could do to change his odd ways, but he wasn't harmful, so Bilbo let him be (begrudgingly). 

"Good morning." He said, as he wandered past Gandalf to make them both tea. "And before you ask about the meaning of my words - all of them."

Gandalf looked at him for a moment, and chuckled. "Good morning to you, Bilbo Baggins. How are you feeling?"

Bilbo snorted. "Cold." He answered. "My torpor last night was rough. I've had to reorganise my nest to accommodate more quilts again."

Gandalf hummed thoughtfully. "And the doctor-"

"Couldn't help." Bilbo cut him off sharply as his cup slammed down a little too hard on the table. 

The room was uncomfortably silent. 

Gandalf took a long sip from the tea Bilbo slid across to him. "I believe I may be able to help you." Gandalf said. "Not me, personally, but I know of a doctor who could be able to cure you."

Bilbo glanced at him, but quickly averted his gaze out of the kitchen window. He took a sip from his tea, and closed his eyes as he let it calm his frazzled nerves. "Don't give me hope when there is none." He murmured.

Gandalf pulled something out of his pocket, his greyed wings shifting slightly. Silently, he slid it over to Bilbo.

It was a sealed letter. Bilbo placed down his tea in favour of picking up the worn paper. He rubbed his thumb over the boxed edges as he observed the seal on the front. It was not one he recognised.

"Gandalf, I-" He glanced up, and was promptly silenced by the sight of his empty kitchen table, complete with an empty teacup. 

He frowned, irritated, and glanced back down at the letter, running his finger over the lettered indents in the seal.

"You want me to go all the way to Erebor, huh?" He murmured to himself, taking a seat at the table as exhaustion began to creep up his spine again. "What could be all the way out there?"

 

He dwelled on Gandalf's letter for a week before opening it. His curiosity got the better of him, he told himself. He thought he would have opened it sooner if he had the energy to, but he ended up sleeping for three days and lethargically sulking for another four after Gandalf came and went.

The letter contained directions to Erebor, and instructions on who to contact. A man named Thorin Oakenshield ran a flock there, it seemed. Apparently Gandalf though he could help Bilbo. The hummingbird didn't see how, when not even those from the Mirkwood and Rivendell hospitals knew what his mystery illness was.

Still, he packed up his things and began the journey to Erebor regardless. He wore several layers to fight off torpor, including a thick scarf, and made sure to carry highly nourishing energy bars designed specifically for hummingbirds to consume. Their fast metabolisms were a common problem, after all, but torpor generally wasn't (which is why Bilbo was travelling in the first place, because his was). 

Erebor was two weeks away. Bilbo took public transport most of the way, and flew the rest, when his health allowed. When he finally arrived, he went straight to where Gandalf's letter told him to.

He just wanted his problem resolved.

 

Upon first seeing Thorin, Bilbo was... interested, to say the least.

Thorin was a crow. His wings were large, expansive, and covered in sleek black feathers that complimented his features extremely well. He had Bilbo's feathers all ruffled, for sure.

"Gandalf told me a hummingbird would come to see me." Thorin had said. "What can I help you with, then?"

 

Bilbo hadn't thought Thorin would be a doctor himself, but he was. And even though he was exhausted, when Thorin offered to do his check up then and there he didn't hesitate. 

For the time he was in Erebor, Thorin let him board in his facility as an in-patient. His first examination of Bilbo was mostly questions, and going over all the tests Bilbo had already had done by other doctors. They eliminated every possibility, before Thorin prescribed him vitamins to help with his nutritional levels and asked Bilbo to come back in two days time.

By the time he went back, Bilbo was feeling worse for wear. He was tired and uncomfortable and his wings ached as though he'd knocked them against a door frame constantly.

"I think I might have an idea of what's bothering you." Thorin said. "My sister went though something similar when she was a babe, before her immune system fully developed - it was why I became a doctor, you know."

Bilbo didn't fully understand all that Thorin told him, but from what he gathered, his constant lethargy was caused by a missing factor in his immune system. Those with high metabolisms, like hummingbirds, were the most prone to developing without the factor which led to extended and more extensive periods of torpor.

"It's not fixable." Thorin told him. "But it is treatable, and can be managed efficiently."

Bilbo had just stared at him, after he'd taken it all in. After so long of not knowing what had been wrong with him, he'd been given an answer in less than a week without any tests needing to be conducted. He'd tried to thank Thorin, to ask him what he needed to do to treat the problem and how he could ever repay the man.

Instead, he'd promptly burst into tears.

 

Bilbo never ended up leaving Erebor. During his treatment, he'd become rather close to Thorin. When he started unknowingly building a nest in his hospital room, he knew that he wouldn't leave.

His affections weren't just because Thorin had cured him. It was something different, something more primal. He thought that Thorin would make a good mate, and when he spent time with Thorin - personal time, not time as doctor and patient - it only solidified his thoughts. Of course, he never expected Thorin to make anything of his feelings. In fact, he felt rather embarrassed by it all.

But Thorin had somehow felt the same.

Maybe they were meant to be.

Either way, it didn't matter anymore. Not with Bilbo making nests in Thorin's home, and Thorin watching on in admiration like he didn't mind all the bright and colourful touches that were uncommon for birds in this area.

Coming to Erebor had been one of the best things he'd ever done.

Not that he'd ever tell Gandalf that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took another go at DayDreamingAni's prompt~
> 
> I'm almost 9,000 words in rewriting _Princely,_ and I'm dreading editing the thing T_T I still have more to write, but that should be ready to edit and post within a few days~ ^^


	26. New Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New life is born into Erebor.

Fertility in Hobbits was a strange thing. By their standards, it was quite normal - mundane, expected even. To other races, especially the Dwarves, it was odd at best, and otherwise a completely foreign concept.

To say the least, the Dwarves of the company (of which Bilbo would have liked to think of as family, if he should so be allowed) were floored when they found out Bilbo could conceive. Males of their race did not having bearing capabilities, not like Hobbits. In fact, even their females struggled to conceive, and had a whole host of difficulties during gestation periods.

On the other hand, Hobbits were exceedingly fertile. While the females were more so, males were also able to conceive and carry children - it wasn't as easy, but it was possible. Female Hobbits could carry up to six children at once, though the gestation period for multiple births was much shorter than the average nine months due to space constrictions. Males, on the other hand, could only carry up to three, and having anything more than a singleton was uncommon, but not unheard of. 

When Bilbo announced his pregnancy, the Dwarves were rather concerned. Dwarven gestation periods were eleven months rather than nine, and Dwarven children were surely going to be larger than a Hobbit babe. They worried Bilbo's body would not be able to withstand the size of the child and the demands that came with a Dwarven pregnancy, but Bilbo wasn't too concerned. 

He knew the capabilities of his body well, and although he'd never been pregnant before it kind of excited him. 

Thorin, of course, turned out to be the most prolific worrier. When Bilbo announced it, he looked like he might be sick. He once admitted to Bilbo, safely wrapped up in their bed with Bilbo tucked into his arms, that he feared Bilbo would not survive the pregnancy. He'd seen what it had done to his sister, and although he treasured Kili and Fili dearly he did not wish for Bilbo to go through the same pain.

Bilbo supposed it didn't help that the Dwarven doctors only knew how to treat female patients. They had no idea as to how to extract the child from Bilbo's stomach when his labour came, and the first few months of the pregnancy were spent hurrying medical books from the Shire to Erebor so that they could be prepared for the arrival of the royal baby.

When Bilbo's bump first showed, Thorin was near tears. He'd been soothed for months regarding Bilbo's health, and the sight of the bump, the feel of it under his expansive hand seemed to suddenly make it _real_ for him. 

Unexpectedly, he became rather protective of Bilbo from then on out. He firmly refused to allow Bilbo to do heavy lifting, and always had someone escort him through Erebor. While Bilbo appreciated the help, it was a little overwhelming. He didn't say anything, because he knew how difficult pregnancies could be for Dwarves. Although the Dwarves knew that pregnancy was much easier for Hobbits, that didn't mean this certain Hobbit's pregnancy would be.

His child was at least half-Dwarven, after all.

It was only in his sixth month that he thought something may be wrong.

His stomach had expanded remarkably fast, faster than both a Hobbit and a Dwarven pregnancy. Some days he spent simply rubbing the expanding bump, knowing that by the end of the nine to ten months he would no longer be able to see his toes. He didn't think his child should be so big.

As it turned out, there were two.

 _Two_ royal babies. 

And by Yavanna's grace, if the entirety of Erebor didn't go up in a roar at that announcement. 

Dwarves didn't have more than singletons, it was unheard of. Hardly ever seen. And yet, there was the inconspicuous Hobbit consort of the King Under the Mountain, having _twins._

It was ridiculous, truly, how the Dwarves reacted. Bilbo wasn't fond of being touched, let alone people touching the largest and most self-conscious part of him, but the attention of the Dwarves was impossible to ignore. Many promptly burst into tears upon touching his stomach, as though someone had offered them hope for a brighter future. Bilbo didn't quite understand it, but the more his stomach grew the cheerier the mountain became.

Thorin was by far the happiest. His affections for Bilbo never wavered, not even during hormone-induced fits or when Bilbo refused to be touched by anyone or even when Bilbo tossed and turned so much that neither of them could sleep. Even when he ate like a pig and cried because he felt huge Thorin only brushed away his tears and told him that Bilbo had never been more beautiful.

Oddly enough, Bilbo believed him.

It was hard to not believe everything the Dwarven King told him, not when he looked at Bilbo with an openness no one had ever shown him before. 

Bilbo often wondered about the genders of his children. Female dwarves were remarkably less common than males, but it was the opposite for Hobbits. Would his children have big feet, or pointed ears? Would they grew a beard, or hair on their feet? His mind raced with images of what they could possibly look like, mixtures of brown hair and blue eyes and black curls and little noses constantly filtering through his mind. There was so much he didn't know...

When nine months rolled around, Bilbo got a little anxious. Not a worried type of anxious, no - an excited kind. He could hardly walk with his size, and expected labour to strike any day. Dwarves around the dinner table - their company, mostly - would always ask why he stared at the bump like he did.

"I'm excited to meet them." Is what he'd say with a smile. He wanted to meet his children, to hold them in his arms. He was ready to spend hours staring at them, learning to know them. Two children would surely be a handful, but he was ready for it. He wanted it.

Of course, much like their father, the children decided to be fashionably late.

Bilbo was sleeping when he was awoken to contractions. They were fierce enough to wake up, and he was instantly struggling out from under the covers, aching to stand.

Thorin had woken as soon as Bilbo moved, as he often did at the time. He'd become increasingly anxious to see the pregnancy end, too, because it had really started taking a toll on Bilbo - the size alone was difficult for him, and the aches were strong.

It took another few hours before Bilbo thought the contractions were close enough to send for the healer. Thorin alerted the guards stationed at the end of the corridor, and instantly the mountain was awake. It seemed that not a single Dwarf wanted to sleep through the arrival of their newest additions.

Bilbo hadn't wanted to give birth in their bedroom - too messy and too private to invite in a healer and guests - but he had a room prepared with the necessary equipment which Thorin helped him to waddle to.

Only a select few were allowed in the room while Bilbo endured the birth. The doctors - including Oin - and of course Thorin. It took another hour of contractions before Bilbo felt safe enough to give them the go ahead to numb the incision area. He couldn't give birth like a female, but male Hobbits were designed to undergo births just as well. An incision would be made, and the babies would be pulled out before he was stitched back up again. Done right, and the wound wouldn't even scar. 

It took half an hour to numb his skin, in which he was laid in a comfortable position with Thorin by his side. After some debate they'd chosen Dis to be their wet-nurse - she was family, was familiar, and had experience with children. She was rather chuffed to be chosen, considering she'd only known Bilbo since his wedding to Thorin two years prior. She hadn't thought they were so familiar with each other that she would be involved in such an intimate affair.

If Bilbo were being honest, he was sure Thorin could have been the wet-nurse. He'd helped with the births of his nephews, and Bilbo certainly trusted him with the newborns, but he was being selfish and wanted Thorin to support him. He was frightened, naturally, but it was something that had done, and he wasn't reluctant.

The birth had been hard, and he was close to tears more than half the time. He couldn't feel much, but there was a distinct shuffling feeling as the children were pulled from him that was vaguely uncomfortable. 

The first cry, the first pitched wail that echoed throughout the room... it would be forever imprinted on his heart. He was fairly certain he'd let out a cry himself, eyes riveted to the squalling baby that Dis carefully cleaned and warmed before wrapping in a soft blanket. The second child was much the same - the Dwarves, to their credit, were clean and efficient, and before Bilbo knew it he had two whimpering children being passed into his arms.

He completely forgot that he was being stitched up as he stared, mesmerised, at his babies.

"They're beautiful." Thorin said, breathless, as his arm supported the ones Bilbo had cradling the children. 

Bilbo hummed, flushed and smiling as he rubbed his nose against Thorin's cheek. 

No one spoke as Bilbo was stitched and cleaned. Dis was making sure the children were okay, and carefully took them one at a time to weigh, measure and check over more thoroughly. Time seemed to fly as she did so, and the doctors left.

"Two perfectly healthy baby boys." She sighed, when both children were back in Bilbo's arms. "I'll leave their milk here if you wish to feed them before returning to your room."

"Thank you, Dis." Thorin murmured for the both of them, briefly pressing his forehead to hers before she too left.

Thorin spent much time fawning over the children as Bilbo took some time rest. He never moved from Bilbo's side, and cradled the quiet babies as if they were made from the most precious material in the entire world. Bilbo admittedly did much the same.

"Have you thought of names?" Thorin asked some time later.

Bilbo nodded. He observed the child in his arms - the firstborn, with dark hair like Thorin's that curled every so slightly like Bilbo's and beautiful chubby cheeks to offset rounded ears. "He will be Frerin." Bilbo said, smiling. "Yes, I do believe that suits him quite well."

Thorin stared at him, eyes swimming. "You would do that for me? Give your first child a Dwarven name, my brother's name?"

Bilbo just smiled. "He's our first child."

Thorin chuckled at his reasoning, and turned to the babe cradled in his arms. "And this little one?" He asked, running a large finger across the baby's nose. Thorin's hands were so large they could cradle the baby's head and still have room for the twin to rest. "His name?"

Bilbo bit his lip. "I thought... maybe Frodo? I know it's a Hobbit name, but it matches Frerin well, but if it's not..."

"Little Frodo, huh?" Thorin smiled at the baby, who squirmed in his blanket with flailing little fists. "It's perfect. Absolutely perfect. Frerin and Frodo, my little treasures."

Bilbo smiled. Frodo's hair was just as dark as his brother's, but curlier. His ears were pointed, and although his feet weren't too much bigger than normal he was certainly more of a Hobbit than Frerin. 

Either way, they were both beautiful.

 

Bilbo slept for a few hours while Thorin watched over the two babies. It was only a power nap, because they had to present the children to the kingdom (as per royal customs) after feeding them before they could return to their room.

Bilbo couldn't lactate like a female could, but he was determined to nurse his children properly regardless. Hobbits had devised a formula for newborn's milk that Bilbo introduced to the mountain as soon as he found out he was pregnant. It helped when a Hobbit had trouble lactating, or when there were multiple children. 

It was difficult to hold both children in his arms. Frerin was bigger and a little heavier than Frodo, and Frodo wasn't entirely Hobbit sized either. It was made even more difficult when they scrabbled for his chest before he could comfortably get the bottles in their tiny mouths.

But Thorin was quick to support him, slipping himself behind Bilbo to tuck the Hobbit in his arms and link them under Bilbo's own, where the children rested. Bilbo gave him a relieved look when the strong weight of Thorin's arms cradled his own and the babies were instantly put in the right position to nurse - to which they did, of course, with all the gusto of hungry Hobbits!

 

"Ready to go?" Thorin asked, hands firm around Bilbo's waist as he walked Bilbo to the door.

Bilbo just hummed, eyes riveted to Frerin and Frodo once more. Both were asleep, bellies full, and Bilbo had wrapped them in softer blankets and put little knitted hats on their heads given to him by Ori to ward off the cold of Erebor.

They first came across the company, including Dis, who had been specifically chosen to see the children first. 

"Oh, look at the wee things." Balin was first to say anything as he peered into Bilbo's arms. "You wouldn't mind if we touched them, would you lad?"

Bilbo chuckled, and shook his head. "No, it's fine."

Balin gently rubbed his finger against Frerin's cheek, breathing in shakily. "He's perfect."

The other Dwarves had much the same opinion. They fawned and sniffled as they took their turns seeing the children, some holding their little hands while other touched their cheeks - and, much to the astonished silence of the Kili and Fili, even held them.

"They're your cousins." Thorin had said proudly before the two just about burst into tears.

"And their names?" Dis asked as she amusedly consoled her sons. "Have you decided?"

Thorin looked a little emotional at that. "Yes." He said. "Bilbo decided."

"Well don't leave me in suspense!" She teased.

Thorin smiled faintly. "The second born is Frodo." He said. "It's a good, gentle Hobbit name to suit his pointed ears. The firstborn has been named Frerin."

Dis's eyes widened. Her glance shifted between Thorin and Bilbo. "Frerin?" She asked, lifting her hands to her mouth.

Thorin nodded. 

Dis flung herself at them, somehow managing to wrap both parents and babies into a warm embrace. "It's perfect." She cried. "They're perfect."

That they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by an anon on tumblr~


	27. The Words You Speak, Surrounding Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and praise - five times he doesn't react and the one time he does.

Bilbo knew Dwarves could be fickle with emotion. They weren't like Hobbits, it didn't shine on their faces. Rather, it was expressed in emotions, and in words - in gentle touches or rough touches, in helping hands or in offering no help, in the quality of the things they made. If one looked closely enough, learned to be patient, then suddenly Dwarves were quite expressive.

It had taken some time for Bilbo to learn Thorin's whims, to learn how he expressed himself. After the years of suffering he experienced, expressing emotions had become something Thorin ruthlessly ignored. If he were not being smug or angry, then he was being stoic.

Some likely misplaced his quietness for coldness, but Bilbo knew better. He'd taken the time to learn better.

One thing Bilbo came to understand quite clearly was that Thorin didn't know how to react to praise. 

 

"You handled that meeting rather well." Balin said, offering Thorin what looked like a proud smile as they exited the meeting hall.

Thorin's face wasn't blank, per say, but rather is was natural - neither happy, nor sad, rather it formed something that was hardly an expression at all. He didn't respond to Balin, instead turning his gaze away after meeting the older Dwarf's eyes for a moment. "What's next?"

"The Iron Hills representatives are here to discuss opening a trade route regarding sapphires."

It was the standard requests for a hearing with the King, Bilbo thought, and yet Thorin did handle them particularly well. As consort, Bilbo was required to attend the conferences if there was not something else important enough for his attention, so he was witness to all the arguing Thorin had to sit through.

It was quite the headache.

 

Swords clashed, and Thorin spun away as Dwalin suddenly swung down his axe. Thorin twisted around, and drove his sword up, but Dwalin swiftly blocked it with the hilt of his sword. For a moment, they struggled against each other's strength, before Thorin broke away and swung a fist forwards.

Bilbo cringed at the sounds of the fight. It was just training, and the two were far too close to each other to actually cause damage, but he was unused to such roughhousing.

"You've improved, my King." Dwalin grinned smugly, as they backed off to take a breather.

Thorin just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a large hand.

Bilbo watched him curiously. Again, there was no response to the praise. If anything, he expected maybe an equally smug look or some sort of display of strength. A smile, at least, but alas there was no reaction at all. 

 

Together, Bilbo and Thorin made their routinely visit to the Great Library. They'd placed Ori and Dori in charge of restoring it to its former greatness after the debris had been cleared away. Bilbo often helped when he was free, but the two brothers had been making remarkable progress themselves following the program Thorin had put in place.

"Hello, Ori." Bilbo smiled as the two came into view. "Dori."

"Ah, Bilbo! It's nice to see you again." Ori smiled at him cheerfully. "You too, King Oakenshield."

Thorin nodded in greeting. His hand was on the small of Bilbo's back, but neither of the Ri brother's reacted to the affectionate touch as others would have. They were far too used to it.

"How is the restoration going?" Bilbo asked, glancing around. "It's looking much more organised in here."

"It's going quite well." Dori said.

"It is!" Ori agreed enthusiastically, turning to Thorin. "King Oakenshield, your program is wonderful! It wouldn't have been this simple without you."

Thorin nodded, his expression average. "I'm glad." He glanced down at Bilbo, who just smiled up at him sillily. "Shall we go?"

 

Some time after their marriage, Thorin's sister Dis arrived at the mountain.

There was quite a flurry of activity with another royal family member in the halls of Erebor. Bilbo was nervous about meeting her, but Thorin was confident that she would like him just as much as any other. 

Dis was quite a pleasant person, Bilbo found. Beautiful, and strong, and able to reel in her mischievous children with nothing more than a glance. Bilbo rather enjoyed her company, honestly, and they got along marvellously well. Thorin was jealous of how quickly she took to him.

As Thorin's younger sister, she was quick to lay on the praise. Considering how prosperous Erebor was becoming, it was no surprise. 

"You've done so well here, brother. You have a beautiful consort, and a prosperous kingdom." She said, giving him the warmest smile Bilbo had ever seen. "I'm so happy for you."

Bilbo had flushed brightly at the praise, but Thorin remained as stoic as ever. His eyes were always soft for his sister, and he wasn't afraid to show her brotherly affection. He teased her honestly and openly, and was never cold.

But he did not react to her praise as Bilbo would had expected.

 

While Dis returned back to Ered Luin, Fili and Kili remained in Erebor. Fili was Erebor's named heir, after all, and Kili was reluctant to leave his brother. Bilbo found their relationship quite endearing.

Even more so when Thorin looked after them. He didn't coddle them, and didn't often give them leeway. When he did, though, Bilbo always felt oddly privileged to witness it. 

Sometimes the brothers still craved parental affection. They'd never admit it, but they came to Thorin when they needed help that they would never dare ask anyone else for. Thorin would help them sharpen their weapons, and train them personally. He'd help Kili straighten his bow, and show Fili the proper way to wield a dagger.

"You're so knowledgeable, Uncle!" Kili would grin, that childish, infinite grin that always had Bilbo smiling along.

"Much smarter than expected!" Fili would agree, teasing and effortlessly honest.

Thorin would just sigh and direct their attentions back to what was at hand. They were easy to mould like that, but Bilbo wasn't. He'd watch the situation unfolding, and wondered whether Thorin realised he wasn't good at reacting to praise, not even from his own kin.

He wondered why.

 

If there was one time Thorin unexpectedly reacted to praise, Bilbo was shocked to find that the praise had come from himself.

They'd been lying in bed, listening to a summer storm rage outside the mountain. It was a small, tranquil moment when everything seemed to have fallen in place. The mountain was prosperous, relations with other races - even the Elves - were steady, and nothing was in need of fixing. 

"You've done so well, darling." Bilbo had unexpectedly said as he was struck by just how much Thorin had overcome. "I've never felt more at home..."

Thorin had glanced up at him, from where he was wrapped in Bilbo's arms. From this close, Bilbo could see right into his eyes, see his own reflection, see the flecks of gold and brown and various shades of blue hidden in his dark irises. 

And Thorin had smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired on [this](http://fairydens.tumblr.com/post/132008752106/toakenshire-thorin-handling-praising-the-five)
> 
> Happy day 300! I wish I had the time to do more, but I have an exam tomorrow~ I'm kind of disappointed in myself, but this turned out well, I think ^^" I wish I could have uploaded _Princely_ but it's not finished yet, ahh~
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me so long! I wouldn't have made it this far without your support <3


	28. The Benefactor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is a _Receiver,_ tasked with the charge of rescuing a _Benefactor,_ the energy source that powers their not-exactly-human society.

Thorin is what has been come to known as a _Retriever._

Essentially, he had the ability to enter another person's subconscious planes - Dreamscapes, they were often called, but he felt more like it was a collection of memories and thoughts made into physical landscapes and scenes by the mind being tainted by things like greed and anger and hatred.

The people he retrieved were special - they were needed. They were energy sources. 

Essentially, they were people who acted like living beacons - their presence, their continued survival, it fuelled those with supernatural affinities that worked to protect their societies. Thorin was a _Retriever_ at spirit, but he worked as a _Pilot_ more commonly. They were more often needed, after all, because a _Retriever's_ ability to enter the Dreamscape was only required when the energy source, the _Benefactor,_ became compromised.

Thorin had only done it once - invade a person's mind like that. It was an ability he was born with, it was _natural,_ but there was something so wrong and invasive about it that he felt awful for months, if not years afterwards. He was glad it wasn't a common occurrence, wasn't something he was required to frequently do. It was draining, and a strain on his own mind. It was being moved out of his own head, his body, away from his own memories and into someone else's. 

Unfortunately, for as long as humans exist so will emotions such as malice and revenge. It's inevitable that _Benefactors_ become tainted, become dangerous. They're generally gentle people with little interest in the world _Pilots_ protect, but when sick they become ferocious. They change, become ill - their energy turns dark, and can kill those who accidentally absorb it. It's poison. 

It happened again, and he was placed in charge of dealing with the _Benefactor._ If they could not be saved, then they would be killed. Their power was just too much if it were not in control. 

Thorin entered the Dreamscape from the street outside the _Benefactors_ home. His energy had already tainted the area - the streetlamps flickered with a blackened light frequently instead of glowing a healthy yellow, and snow had started to fall, even though it was spring. The _Benefactors_ Dreamscape had already started becoming tangible, starting infecting the real world. Thorin could almost taste the sickness on the air, something scary and putrid and stomach-churning.

It was terrifying, because he didn't know what he'd be thrown into.

 

A warm house overlooked rolling green hills. There was a fire burning in the hearth, and many pictures on the wall and trinkets on every surface, but the house felt very alone.

Thorin looked around for a bit, brushing the snow from the real world off his shoulders. The house was winding, with corridors upon corridors upon corridors. He didn't think the house was once like this.

Eventually he came upon a room. It was a child's room, filled with plush bedding and a chest full of toys that spilled over the edges. It felt homely, and comforting. It felt safe.  
It felt like Thorin was intruding.

That was a part of the Dreamscape - he didn't belong here, so the _Benefactor's_ mind would start to notice he wasn't a thought or memory and try to evict him. The first Dreamscape he'd been in had been violent from the beginning, but this once felt more...

More like a storm, gathering up the willpower to create something worse.

There was a child on the bed, he noticed after a moment. A small boy with rounded cheeks and curly hair and tears in his eyes. He looked lonely.

"Are you alright?" Thorin asks, crouching down to peer into the boy's face. "It looks cold outside, doesn't it?"

The boy glances up at him, cherubic lips falling apart. A tear ran into them, but he hardly seemed to notice.

Thorin reached for his hand, held it delicately. "I'm Thorin. What's your name, sweetheart?"

The child whimpered, and squeezed his eyes shut. The world went dark.

 

The next room that filtered through the dreamscape was in the house Thorin was familiar with. The boy was older now, just on the cusp of adulthood. He stood by the window, eyes hallow.

Thorin wondered how long he'd been tainted.

Voices drifted through the room like water - they were memories, private things Thorin tried not to listen to. The words were taunting, where frightening. Feelings of loneliness and isolation were thick in this room. He wanted to leave, almost like it was his own thoughts telling him to do so, but he knew it was the Dreamscape. He had a job to do, but it couldn't be completed here.

It was too stagnant.

 

He expected violence, knew it would come - the combination of the animosity in the tainted Dreamscape and its will to expel him as though he were nothing more than a pathogen created something that was ferocious and deadly.

This landscape was an open plain - something expansive and wide, with the sea rolling in the distance beneath the cliffs ahead. It stormed, grey clouds toiling, but that wasn't the worst of Thorin's problems. No, the _Benefactor_ was.

The man was hunched over, screaming futilely, but no sound came from his lips. His hands gripped his hair as something dark and tangible and violent crashed around him, like shocks of lightning. It crackled in the air, and shrieked at the wave of energy Thorin threw up to fend it off, like it was something living.

"Wake up!" Thorin shouted, stumbling forwards. He lifted his hands, increasing the energy he expelled. He only had so much stored up before he'd begin to absorb what was suturing the Dreamscape. "Can you hear me?"

As he got closer, he could hear it - the screams, the heavy breathing. It was like the air was being sucked out of the _Benefactor's_ lungs.

Thorin pushed on regardless, shrinking his shield to encase only himself as black filled the air. "Tell me your name-!" He cried out in pain as a spear of darkness shot through his shield to cut at his cheek.

The man looked up at him, mouth open, eyes bloodshot. "M-my name?"

Thorin nodded, squeezing an eye shut as his arms started to shake. "Tell me." Thorin pleaded.

The man stared at him. "Bilbo."

 

Thorin gasped sharply, collapsing against the lamppost as he was thrown back into reality. He glanced up at the night sky - it'd been hours, and the barriers around the street were fading. He'd only just made it, it seemed.

Even though he felt drained, he pushed his way upright and staggered into the house he remembered from the Dreamscape.

Bilbo was lying passed out on his bed, curled on his side. He was sweating profusely, and whimpered every now and then. Thorin just sighed, and heaved him up to carry him out of that damned bedroom. He placed Bilbo on the couch down the hall instead, and took a seat on the floor beside him.

"Bilbo, huh..." He murmured, gently brushing away the damp curls from Bilbo's forehead. "That's a nice name."


	29. The Benefactor Pt.II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've got plans to get to you, don't you know? So don't go where I can't follow."

He breathed deep, and let it out quietly.

"You look cold."

Thorin glanced up from where his eyes had been fixed to his knees. His sister stood there, in the doorway, silhouetted by the soft afternoon sunlight. She watched him with the same eyes that stared back at him out from a mirror.

He turned back to his knees, feeling his face crumple a little. 

Dis walked over. He listened to her footsteps, soft and somehow still strong. "Why don't you get out of here, sometime?" She asked, fixing the muffler around his neck with gentle hands. "It's stagnating."

He closed his eyes. _This world is stagnating._

Dis pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. "Don't get lost here, big brother." She whispered, before she was gone.

He supposed he was cold. It didn't snow in spring, but if he opened his eyes, opened them _properly,_ then everything was dusted in a thin sheen of cold, muffling white quietness. He shivered at just the thought of it, and curled his fingers tighter. 

He thought back to Bilbo's house, the darkness that had collected in every corner. Bilbo had fallen asleep on the couch, so when Thorin had gathered the strength he'd brought Bilbo here, to the infirmary at the house _Pilots_ from the line of Durin resided in.

Bilbo hadn't woken.

 

"How many levels did he have?" Thrain asked him.

Thorin grit his teeth, and carefully did not let his frustration show on his face. "Just three." He answered. Bilbo's Dreamscape had only revelled three scenes, three landscapes - they were called "levels" and acted like layers of raw emotion and memory. They were what subconscious was made of.

"Go deeper." Thrain said, eyes twinkling a sickly gold. "Three is too little. You need more."

Thorin nodded, and left before his father could order him to do anything else. Three wasn't too little, it was all Bilbo could _handle._ How did Thrain not see that? 

It seemed utterly contradicting, but the deeper a _Retriever_ went into a _Benefactor's_ mind, the healthier the _Benefactor_ could become. It was a deep-cleaning process, a way to fight out every thread of animosity that tainted the mind. The _Retriever_ could chase away the taint from every corner of the mind, that way.

Of course, the further in he went the more dangerous it became. The mind he was invading would work much harder to repel him, and he ran the risk of getting lost in someone else's subconscious. If that were to happen, then the both of them would ever make it out. It was crazy to try and prompt deeper levels to surface, and extremely unsafe.

But he couldn't disobey direct orders from his father. The Durin line was one of the most prominent families in their society, and it was expected that they maintain a certain level of strength and ruthlessness that had them known as powerful. Their closely guarded secret - of madness and sickness - must never see the light of the day. They must never show weakness.

Even if it meant killing their own kin.

 

Thorin gripped his head as he sunk into Bilbo's Dreamscape. He went past Bilbo's childhood home, past his stagnant bedroom and the cliffs where Bilbo's mind first noticed his breach. Instead, he pushed on further, and opened his eyes to find himself standing in a garden.

He glanced around, amazed by the realness of the dream. Greenery of all types and colours overflowed from every garden bed, filling the air with soft scents that he couldn't really smell but could rather _imagine._ He wandered around for a bit, hand held out towards the flowers that burst to life as he approached. 

A flash of white caught his attention. When he turned his head, he noticed a paper plane drifting though the air. As he watched, it landed peacefully on the ground, and not a moment later another one, smaller in size, drifted down the path. It was so quiet - it was then that he realised there was no sound at all, not even the sound of his own breathing or his own heart beating. 

He felt a pique of interest stir at the sight of the paper. Curious, he followed the planes, watching as several more floated through the air. One drifted down towards him, as if its chosen path had anticipated him following them. He caught it as it drifted down, and held it delicately between his hands.

When he looked back up, briefly blinded by the sun, he saw a treehouse. He hadn't even seen the tree, but it looked like it fit in the garden. Standing on the porch of the treehouse was Bilbo - he didn't look that old, less than twenty for sure. Even as Thorin watched, he tossed another paper plane into the air, where it soared above Thorin's head.

Thorin opened his mouth to call to Bilbo, but for some reason, he didn't. He couldn't make a sound.

Bilbo picked up another piece of paper, and wrote something across it. He put down the pencil, folded the paper, and then another plane, another thought was thrown into the air, left to disappear when he couldn't see it anymore. Then he did it again - he wrote a message, hid it in the folds of the plane, and let it soar. And again.

_All those planes have something written on them?_

Thorin glanced down at the plane resting in his hands even as another one drifted to rest by his feet, and another passed by his cheek. Carefully, he unfolded it.

It was blank.

 

Thorin gasped painfully as the Dreamscape twisted. He found himself sitting at a kitchen bench, dressed warmly. It snowed outside.

This room was lonely, he thought. There were pictures of people - Bilbo's parents, he assumed - on the wall, with vases of flowers sitting beneath them. Dark shapes like the ones that had attacked him before lingered in small collections on the bench, as though they were house plants. They filtered between the petals of the flowers in the vase, and crept out from behind the photo frames.

It took Thorin a moment, but he realised this house was tainted, too. Bilbo felt isolated, alone, angry... he'd grown up believing no one would ever love him, that he wasn't worth the attention of anyone. He'd suffered in silence as the darkness of the world clung to him, and when he'd realised it was there it was so ingrained in his life that it became a distant memory. 

Thorin didn't know how deep that self-hatred went. 

In the seat beside him, sat Bilbo. 

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo startled at that, and glanced at Thorin as though he truly hadn't noticed him there. 

"How are you feeling?" Thorin asked, brow creased with worry. This deep into a Dreamscape couldn't mean anything good. It wasn't stagnating - this wasn't like the calm surface of the ocean, no, they were deeper down were currents and rips tore apart the seabed to cruelly expose everything underneath. 

Bilbo stared at him, eyes wide and stricken. They were endless, like slicks of oil, and shined with tears that hadn't ever been allowed to fall.

Thorin drew him closer, despite the way Bilbo went thorny and stiff. He brushed snow off of Bilbo's shoulders, too, because it seemed to be chilling him right to the skin. "I'm going to build a paper plane," He said, "And it'll float to you."

 

Thorin doesn't know how many different levels he stumbled through. They blurred together into a mix of memories and reality until he struggled to remember what was real and what wasn't.

This Bilbo, the one he witnessed struggle in the Dreamscape, he knew it couldn't be the real Bilbo. This one, this weak, vulnerable Bilbo was being attacked by his own mind, poisoned by something he could no longer control. Backlashes of memories - of people taunting him, abusing him, of him being weak and unstable after the slow deaths of his parents weaselled into Bilbo's mind to create these images. 

Eventually Thorin reached his limit. He went down as far as he could go, and then Bilbo's mind revolted.

Like before, the taint attacked him. He didn't know what to call it - a demon, a beast, something monstrous and sticky and constant. It formed shapes that were distinctly inhuman, and launched at him with more strength than he could fend off.

The scenery was a street - Bilbo's street. It was familiar, but the lampposts were covered in snow, the bulbs blown. They stood on the empty road. The wind was loud, and something distinctively noisy thrummed through the air, like a warning siren.

Bilbo stood across from Thorin, hunched over, head bowed. The taint spread across his skin like a disease, turning it black, before tearing out from his back like gangly limbs. No matter how much energy Thorin threw at it, no matter how many times he beat it back, it always charged forwards with more to give. It dragged Bilbo around like a ragdoll, like it was controlling him instead of the other way around. There was no way for Bilbo to fight it off, even if Thorin could convince him to. 

Thorin grunted as sweat poured down his back. He felt exhausted, his arms like lead. He wanted to give up, he tried not to but there wasn't anything he could do. Bilbo was too tainted, and he was too deep in.

When he shields gave out, he almost welcomed death. 

 

_"Thorin!"_

He choked and spluttered into consciousness, wading through a dizzying spin of fuzziness in his head to surface somewhere familiar and solid to the touch. 

Dis hovered over him, eyes red as she gripped his shoulders tightly. "Thorin..." She whimpered.

"Dis?" He croaked, lifting a hand to touch her hair. "What...?"

"You went too far in." She whispered. "Thorin, your eyes... they're turning gold."

His heart thudded painfully. _Gold Sickness..._

"Please, don't become like Father, Thorin." Dis hiccupped. "I couldn't bare it, if you were to- to..."

"Bilbo." Thorin said suddenly, pushing upright despite Dis's startled protests. "Where's Bilbo?"

"Father, he- he..."

Thorin pushed her away, feeling panic turn his blood cold. "Where is he?"

"He's in the infirmary-"

Thorin jolted off the bed, discarding the blanket that had been tossed over him. He had to get to Bilbo, he had to-

The infirmary was just a door over, and when Thorin tore it open the sight that greeted him sent a chill up his spine. Angered, he sent a wave of energy at his father, who stood over Bilbo as though he were going to kill him. Thorin knew his father would have done it too - he could see it in his father's fully-fledged gold eyes, the way they glittered with malice. He saw Bilbo as nothing more than something disposable now that Thorin had failed to save him.

"Don't touch him!" Thorin snarled, stalking closer.

Thrain watched him, eyes glittering. "He's weak. Disposable." He said. "He has to be dealt with."

"This is _his_ life." Thorin hissed. "He was born for this. I'm going to save him, so don't you _dare_ touch him, filth."

"You think you can save him?" Thrain said. "This meagre boy? You couldn't even save your own kin."

Thorin ground his teeth together, but refused to move. Eventually, Thrain closed his eyes at Thorin and left as though he was disappointed. That usually would have stung Thorin, hurt him, but he felt... nothing. He felt nothing, and he _didn't even care._

Silently, he took his seat beside Bilbo again. 

"Thorin?"

"What do you want from me, Dis?" He whispered, exhausted, as she stepped into the room and closed the door to offer them privacy. "I won't give up on him."

She knew what he meant - knew of his regrets. "Thorin, that... what happened to him, it wasn't your fault-"

"It was!" Thorin snapped. He didn't know which "him" they were talking about anymore. "I couldn't save him! I couldn't save him, and I can't save Bilbo, and they'll both be dead."

"Thorin..."

"Just leave me be, Dis." He sagged against the bed, and pulled his jacket on tighter. He blinked a few times, and could have sworn he saw a paper plane flutter past the window across from him. "Just leave me be..."

 

Day changed into night as Thorin stared at Bilbo. It had started snowing again, soft dustings of white covering the spring foliage that burst forth from the ground that could be viewed from the window in the room. It didn't look like new life to Thorin anymore. It looked futile. 

Thorin gripped the edge of the bed tightly, curling his fingers into the lumpy mattress. "I've got plans to get to you, don't you know?" He whispered. "So don't go where I can't follow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't particularly liked this AU when I wrote it, and as such I hadn't planned out a second part, but there was interest so I ended up writing one ^_^


	30. Petulantly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo fixes a situation between Bilbo and Thorin.

Bilbo doesn't even remember what they fought over. Something trivial, pointless, probably - something that didn't mean anything to him, but he was too stubborn to compromise. He felt awful for arguing for Thorin, even more so because they had Frodo to take care of.

"Papa are you crying?"

Frodo's eyes were big and wide and looked vaguely wet as he stared up at Bilbo expectantly. Bilbo just smiled, and dropped a comforting hand to Frodo's curly head. "Of course not, my boy."

"But you aren't sitting with Uncle Thorin." Frodo said. "You're always with Uncle Thorin. You're sad."

Bilbo sighed. Frodo was far too perceptive, even at just four years of age. "Don't worry, Frodo." He soothed. "I'm just a little busy, yeah? Do you want something to eat?"

Food was the best and most affective way to distract a Baggins, after all. 

 

Bilbo was in the kitchen making dinner when he heard the tell-tale sounds of Frodo's little feet wandering down the hallway towards Thorin's study - well, it was theirs, but Bilbo let Thorin take up most of the room. He didn't mind, he only needed a small space for his writing and manuscripts, and he liked seeing all the things Thorin was working on. 

Bilbo paused in what he was doing to listen to Frodo peer into the study, pushing the door open. It creaked at the hinges a little, but neither Thorin nor him never bothered to fix it. It was a little quirk that sounded like home. 

"Hey there, Frodo." He heard Thorin murmur. Thorin loved Frodo more than anything, absolutely adored him. "Want to play?"

"No." Frodo muttered petulantly. "You made Papa sad."

Thorin was silent for a moment. "I think I did." He finally said. He sounded sad himself. "I'm sorry, Frodo. I didn't meant to make you sad too."

"I'm not sad because of you." Frodo said. "I'm sad because you made Papa sad. You should make him feel better."

"I suppose I should..."

Bilbo turned back to cooking and pretended he hadn't been eavesdropping, even though his cheeks flamed. He heard Thorin coming closer, and bit his lip nervously. He loved Thorin more than anything, and wanted them to never fight, but sometimes fights were necessary. He always felt a little more in love when they worked through things together.

"Bilbo?"

He glanced up, and welcomed the tentative embrace Thorin pulled him into. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

"I am too." Thorin sighed deeply, pressing his cheek against Bilbo's head. "I hate fighting with you, I hate upsetting you, and Frodo..." He squeezed Bilbo a little tighter.

Bilbo pressed a small kiss to the underside of Thorin's chin. "I could never stay mad at you." He admitted. "I understand how you feel, Thorin. I don't hate us for arguing, so long as we work it out."

Thorin hummed in agreement, pressing their cheeks together. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Thorin smiled at him as though Bilbo's words were something truly unexpected, like he would never get over the surprise of hearing that someone loved him. Bilbo felt much the same.

Bilbo gasped as Frodo barrelled into the back of his legs, forcefully worming his way between the two of them. "Me too!" He cried, reaching up to tug insistently on the hem of Bilbo's sweater. "Me too!"

Thorin laughed, and reached down to sweep the toddler up into his arms. "Of course, my dear."

Frodo just grinned, dimples popping up on his cheeks as he slung his arms around Thorin's neck. He looked mighty proud of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by hanhan~
> 
> I know it's the 31st tomorrow, and although I don't celebrate or particularly like Halloween, is there something you would like to see written for the occasion? I've got no experience with that particular festivity, but I'm open to suggestions~


	31. Sugar Skulls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hobbits celebrate the Day of the Dead.

Erebor was a flurry of activity, as it often was, but its single Hobbit resident was taking things slower.

He thought that maybe the Dwarves didn't know what this day was, but for Hobbits, it was something special. He was deigned to spend his day easy, and had a whole schedule of traditions planned in his head to partake in. 

Thorin had already left their bed when he woke, but that wasn't all too uncommon. Bilbo lazed around in bed for a bit, before leisurely getting dressed to make his way towards the kitchen. The day prior, he'd prepared all he needed to spend the morning making sugar skulls and various other foods that his parents loved to eat.

Bombur was still in the kitchens when he arrived, along with a series of other chefs that had begun preparing the day's lunch. Bilbo greeted them sleepily, and moved past his usual station to the back room where there was always a bench free.

It was cathartic, making food like this. It was purely Shire food - memories from his childhood, tastes and smells and feels, turned into something tangible. He felt less homesick when he seeped himself into traditions like this, and he didn't often get the chance to. 

Halfway through the day, Fili and Kili came in searching for the lunch Bilbo usually fixed for them. If he was in the kitchens for the day, he always made the two something to eat, mostly because they insisted (and he might of have quite the soft spot for them). 

Still, today he had nothing for them. They left looking a little confused and pouty, but Bilbo just smiled at them loftily, and carried on with his preparations. Come sun down, everything would be ready and the Dia de los Muertos would properly begin.

 

Of course, his preparations were not completely unnoticed by his Dwarves. Aside from Kili and Fili, others popped in to check on him throughout the day - it wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but now they were curious about the decorated skulls taking place on his bench, too. 

Bilbo had already made his small altar on the balcony that overlooked the forest surrounding the Lonely Mountain and the glittering surface of Esgaroth. There he placed the nicest flowers he could find, along with portrait of his parents he'd had brought over from Bag-End. He'd decorated it, too - flowers and ribbons and other pretty things he'd found or made.

It was very Hobbit-ish, he thought. It made him smile as he brought up the sugar skulls and all the food he'd made.

"Is today something special that I should know of?" Thorin asked from the doorway, as he watched curiously.

Bilbo just sighed pleasantly, and took a seat on one of the stone benches. "It's a Hobbit tradition." He said. "We call it the Day of the Dead, in celebration of those who once lived."

Thorin came to sit by him, looking at what he made. "Then you do this in the Shire?"

Bilbo nodded again. "Yes. We traditionally visit the graves of our loved ones - clean them up, decorate them. We bring our loved ones their favourite foods, and spend time remembering them. And we make sugar skulls, of course."

"Had I known, I would have made more of an effort." Thorin said, tucking Bilbo under his arm comfortably as the sun began to set.

"Nonsense, it's a Hobbit tradition." Bilbo said. "I didn't expect you to do anything."

"You should tell me of these things." Thorin told him. "You mean a great deal to me, and therefore so do your traditions. You are just as much a part of this mountain as we are."

Bilbo smiled faintly, and rested his head on Thorin's shoulder more comfortably. "Shall I tell you of the one time my mother went on an adventure?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by cappuccettorosso~
> 
> I was a little hesitant to write anything about the Dia de los Muertos, mostly because I am afraid to offend anyone~ I'm not familiar with the tradition or culture - I only know about Sugar Skulls - so I apologise if anything is wrong ^^" I tried to keep it generalised~
> 
> But :3's interest in this idea convinced me, haha~ I hope it's okay even though it's short ;^; Happy Halloween to those who celebrate it!


End file.
